


With a Vengeance

by PennyLane



Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 17:16:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 49,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennyLane/pseuds/PennyLane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A demon is looking for revenge - and his target is Peter Venkman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With a Vengeance

The sorcerer stepped into the carefully prepared circle and opened the small, ancient book in his hands to the correct page. It had taken him nearly a year of research, false leads, visits to places most travel agents had never heard of, and a great deal of money, but he finally had his treasure. It wasn't the most powerful spell book known to man--no, he'd had that book in his possession only briefly before it had been ripped from him--but the spells contained within its covers would enable him to do what he wanted to do. What he had promised himself he would do. People did not cross Geoffrey Neeson without paying the price.

Carefully, deliberately, he spoke the words of the long-forgotten spell, his eyes wary but gleaming with anticipation. He had summoned demons before, but never one as powerful as this incantation promised. Many before him had tried and failed, but none of them had prepared as carefully...and none of them could offer what he offered.

He intoned the final word of the spell, a smile of triumph curling his lips as a thunderous roar seemed to shake his isolated sanctuary. A blinding flash in the center of the pentagram painted on the floor several yards away made him involuntarily tighten his grip on the cracked leather cover of the spell book, but his gaze didn't flinch as the creature he had summoned slowly took shape within the confines of the diagram.

The demon was enormous, even larger than he had imagined, with reddish-brown scales covering its almost human-like form, and venomous yellow eyes. There was intelligence and cunning in those eyes and Neeson understood immediately why A'nuit was so dangerous. It wasn't merely the six deadly claws on the ends of both hands that could rip a human apart, or the incredible strength displayed in the sinewy muscles that defined its body. Brute strength without intelligence was no real threat; but that kind of strength combined with the ability to think and plan would be deadly.

Neeson could see the demon mentally testing the strength of the pentagram that bound him, and knew the exact instant A'nuit realized its power. Rage like nothing the sorcerer had ever seen before blazed in those amber eyes, and in the next moment that fearsome gaze was on him.

"Why have you summoned me, Sorcerer?" A'nuit's voice, in direct contradiction to his enormous form, was dry and dusty, almost a snake-like hiss. But there was enough cold evil in it to make Neeson shiver involuntarily.

"I have summoned you, great A'nuit," he replied, keeping his voice steady with the greatest effort, "to offer a bargain."

A'nuit's eyes flared with contempt. "I do not bargain with humans," he sneered.

"Even if that human can guarantee the destruction of your greatest enemies?"

The demon's eyes narrowed in wary suspicion. "What enemies would you know of, Sorcerer?"

"The Ghostbusters," Neeson stated flatly.

A'nuit's human-like face twisted in rage as he let out a roar that caused Neeson to flinch. "I will crush them!" the demon thundered, clenching one clawed fist and raising it to the heavens as if making a vow.

"But you haven't been able to, have you?" the sorcerer reminded him carefully. "Three times in the last year you have ventured into this realm, and three times they have forced you back into your own dimension." Neeson had done meticulous research on the Ghostbusters' activities over the past year and knew he had found a perfect partner for his scheme of revenge. The demon had as much reason to hate the paranormal investigators and eliminators as he did.

Driven to fresh anger by that reminder, the demon forgot his situation and took a vicious swipe at Neeson, only to howl in new rage as the pentagram held firm, effectively imprisoning him in place.

"I can change that," Neeson continued quickly. "Together we can destroy the Ghostbusters."

Recognizing the futility of continuing to struggle, A'nuit's anger subsided for the moment and he studied the sorcerer with open suspicion. "What are you proposing?"

Neeson took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then replied, "A blood binding." A blood binding was such an ancient and rare ritual that most occult scholars thought it a myth. But Neeson believed it to be very real--and he knew it was the only way his plan would work. A blood binding bound the demon and the sorcerer who summoned him inexorably together for a mutually-agreed upon purpose. The demon could not harm the sorcerer, nor could the sorcerer use magic on the demon. Plus, just as important to Neeson, the binding would allow him to travel freely between his realm and the demon's. After their mutual goal had been achieved, both would be released from the binding, but their vow not to harm the other would be in effect for all eternity. The punishment for breaking that oath would be annihilation for the offender. Without such a promise from A'nuit, Neeson could never release him from the pentagram or he knew his life would be forfeit.

Something resembling a cunning smile twisted the features of the demon. "I didn't think anyone knew of blood bindings any longer."

"I know a great deal of things," Neeson informed him pointedly. "Will you agree?"

The demon's eyes narrowed slyly. "You will deliver the Ghostbusters to me? They must be mine to destroy."

Neeson said firmly, "The Ghostbusters will be destroyed, but we must follow my plan."

A'nuit threw his head back and waved a clawed hand in anger. "I will destroy them myself!"

"You have already tried and failed," the sorcerer said coolly. "My plan will succeed. If you want to destroy the Ghostbusters, we must do it my way." A chilling smile creased his thin features as he mentally reviewed the plan it had taken him nearly a year to conceive and perfect. "I promise you, A'nuit," he said softly, "my plan will provide you with much more, ah, entertainment than simply killing them outright. It will take a little longer, but it will be so much more enjoyable--and, in the end, we will obtain the same result."

The demon listened to Neeson's speech with growing interest, his amber eyes glowing brightly at the thought of drawing out the destruction of his enemies for his pleasure. Centuries ago, A'nuit had been feared widely for the leisurely way he ripped apart men's souls. He had gotten a bit impatient and sloppy in recent years, but it was obvious the thought of the lingering torment of his enemies greatly appealed to him. "Entertainment," he mused. "It has been a long time since I have been properly 'entertained'."

"Then you agree to the binding?" A'nuit had to say the proper words for the oath to be binding, or the ritual itself would mean nothing. Neeson briefly wondered how many sorcerers in the past had overlooked that little detail.

Craftiness sparked in the demon's yellow eyes as if he were trying to determine how knowledgeable Neeson was about the ancient oath. He saw the answer in the occultist's face, grunted, then intoned, "I agree to the blood binding, Sorcerer, and submit to the ritual, acknowledging that the punishment for breaking my oath to thee shall be non-existence."

Neeson nodded his satisfaction. "I, too, agree to the blood binding, mighty A'nuit, and submit to the ritual, acknowledging that the punishment for breaking my oath to thee shall be non-existence."

The demon nodded his own satisfaction at the spoken oath and Neeson carefully removed a leather-sheathed knife from the pocket of his jacket. Sliding the ornately-carved silver knife free, he discarded the sheath and pressed the wicked, curved point of the blade against the inside of his wrist, wincing as blood welled up in the small wound. With careful deliberation, he smeared the blood over the blade, then held it up for A'nuit to see. The demon nodded again and Neeson knelt within his circle and slid the knife across the floor so it came to rest within the pentagram. As he watched, A'nuit picked up the knife, held the curved blade against his wrist, and impassively bore down so it cut through his leather-like scales. A thick, dark liquid with a smell something like vinegar oozed out sluggishly from the cut and the demon casually smeared his own life blood along the blade to mix with Neeson's.

When he finished, he dropped the knife so it fell between Neeson's protective circle and the pentagram. "It is done," he declared. "We are bound."

"We are bound," Neeson replied, ending the prescribed ritual, and stepped out of the circle.

Without hesitation, A'nuit stepped out of the confines of the pentagram, his amber eyes blazing with a fearsome hunger.

Knowing that hunger could not touch him, Neeson smiled cruelly. The Ghostbusters' fate had been sealed.

*****

"That was not fun and I'm not gonna do it again and you can't make me!"

The vicious slamming of one of Ecto-1's doors punctuated the flat statement and Janine Melnitz looked up from her computer screen to see Peter Venkman glaring at his colleagues as they climbed out of the car. Her eyes widened as she took in the psychologist's appearance: he was literally covered from head to foot in what at first glance looked like orange marmalade, but she knew had to be ectoplasm. His dark hair, always a source of such pride to him, hung in limp, wet strands and he impatiently pushed it out of his eyes, grimacing at the orange goo it left behind on his hand. Then he flinched as a particularly large glob of slime slid down his neck and disappeared under his collar.

"Dr. Venkman, what happened to you?" she asked, standing and coming out from behind her desk to get a better look.

He whirled around, transferring his glare to her. "What does it look like happened to me?" he asked between clenched teeth. "I've been slimed!"

"You sure have," she agreed, biting her lip hard to keep from laughing. When Dr. V's temper was this close to snapping it was best not to be the one to provoke him. Especially when she needed to ask for an afternoon off later in the week.

Egon Spengler walked around the car from the other side to stand next to Peter, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. "We needed bait," he explained with a perfectly straight face.

"So it was me." Peter flicked his arms, deliberately spraying the physicist with droplets of orange slime. "Why is it always me?" he demanded, his voice rising in outrage.

"Well, because you're so good at it," Ray said innocuously. He looked for a clean area on the psychologist's uniform, found a tiny uncontaminated piece of cloth on Peter's shoulder, and carefully patted it in what would have been taken for a sympathetic gesture if not for the grin on his face.

"He's right, homeboy, you really are good at it." Unlike the others, Winston Zeddemore lost the fight to contain his amusement and chuckled openly. But he quickly retrieved the traps from the back of Ecto and made for the stairs when Venkman advanced on him with murder in his eyes. "Think I'll put these guys in the containment unit," he offered, still chuckling as he made his escape into the basement.

Dabbing at the flecks of orange slime on his otherwise clean uniform, Egon suggested, "Why don't you go upstairs and take a shower, Peter? I'm sure you'll feel better afterward."

"I'm taking a shower and a nap," the psychologist declared, dripping ectoplasm with every step as he made his way up the stairs. "And I don't want anyone to call me before dinner."

Ray hurried over to the steps and looked up at Venkman's disappearing back. "But, Peter, what about lunch?"

Spengler's hand on his shoulder brought the occultist back around. "I think Peter needs a nap more than he need lunch right now, Ray. Remember how late he got in last night from his date. I feel sure lack of sleep is adding to his ill humor." The physicist's lips twitched. "That, and the slime covering virtually every square inch of his body."

Ray couldn't help grinning, too, and that told Janine the bust had been a messy one, but not dangerous. None of them would be joking if Peter had been in any danger. Getting slimed was part of the job, although Janine had to admit she'd rarely seen any of them slimed quite that thoroughly. Satisfied that was the worst that had happened to any of them on the bust, she returned to her desk.

"Why is it Peter always makes such good bait, Egon?" Ray was asking. "I mean, we were all out there running around, but those little goopers seemed to really zero in on Peter."

Spengler nudged his glasses back into place with one finger as he and Ray climbed the stairs to the second floor. "It could be something in his metabolic frequency that somehow attracts the attention of certain ghosts. It's a theory I've long held, but Peter absolutely refuses to allow me to run the necessary tests to confirm it." Then he chuckled softly as they vanished upstairs. "Or it could simply be that he goes out of his way to annoy them and they respond accordingly."

"Or it could be," Janine said aloud, fingers flying over the keyboard, "Dr. V won't let anyone else play bait." Peter liked to whine and complain about getting slimed and any number of other inconveniences, but if there had to be a target, Venkman was usually the first one out in front. She had seen it herself on busts she'd gone on, and had heard it from the other three often enough to know it wasn't mere chance that more often than not put Peter out front. Venkman had a fierce protective streak when it came to his friends, and he didn't allow anything--ghosts, demons, demigods, vampires or werewolves--to get between him and his team mates. Janine sighed as she began printing out the invoices. Dr. V could drive her crazy sometimes, but then, she admitted, so could Egon.

*****

"Go 'way." Peter swatted irritably at the hand shaking his shoulder and tried to pull the blankets over his head. He succeeded, but someone pulled them down again.

"Come on, Peter. We've got to go!"

Venkman cracked an eye open to make out the form of Ray Stantz beside his bed, eagerly bouncing from one foot to the other. The sight was enough to wrench a heartfelt groan from his throat. "Not a bust. Please tell me it's not another bust."

"Up and at 'em, homeboy. Let's move it." That was Winston and he sounded grim.

Peter reluctantly opened the other eye and saw activity all around him. "What's up?" he demanded, sitting up and suddenly wide awake.

"Egon thinks it's that demon again," Ray explained, his eyes shining with excitement. "You remember A'nuit?"

"Him again?" Heaving himself out of bed with an effort, the psychologist grabbed a clean uniform and began pulling it on. "We should have scrambled his molecules the last time around," he growled. Raising his voice, he demanded, "Tell me again why we didn't, Egon."

Spengler was in the lab across the hall, frowning in concentration as he made an adjustment to the atomic destabilizer. He didn't bother to look up as he answered Peter's question. "Because he slipped back into his own dimension before we had a chance," he said tersely, raising his own voice in reply. "And the portals he uses keep shifting. We can't seal them if we can't find them."

"Well, this time let's fry his butt and trap him and then we won't have to worry about floating dimensional doorways," Peter muttered, pulling on his boots. He remembered their three prior encounters with A'nuit all too well and he wanted nothing more than to have that demon safely put away in the containment unit. Someone always ended up getting trashed when A'nuit paid a visit.

"Good idea, Pete. Got any suggestions how we might do that?" Winston hurried past him into the hallway. "He's given us the slip three times already. I think he knows all our moves."

"Then we'll just have to come up with some new moves." As Peter left the bedroom, Egon was handing the atomic destabilizer to Zeddemore, who carefully carried it downstairs. He could already hear Ray revving up Ecto in the garage. When Peter started to follow Winston, the physicist snagged his arm. "I want you to be very careful on this bust, Peter."

The seriousness of Spengler's tone made the brown-haired man stop in his tracks to stare at his friend. "I want us all to be careful on this bust," he countered.

Spengler's long fingers tightened around his arm. "I mean it."

"You having premonitions or something?" the psychologist asked lightly, trying to ignore the sudden chill of nervousness that shot through his body.

Egon's blue eyes were grave behind the red frames of his glasses. "I'm simply remembering our last encounter with A'nuit," he said somberly. "Your taunts infuriated him and he made a special point of seeking you out for retribution. We know he is powerful and extremely dangerous, and I am very concerned he may concentrate his efforts on you again." He lowered his head so he was gazing sternly at Peter over the rims of his glasses. "I do not want you to play bait this time out, Dr. Venkman. If it becomes apparent he is singling you out for special attention, to put it bluntly, you get the hell out of Dodge. Is that understood?"

The psychologist smiled faintly and clapped the taller man on the arm. "Understood. But if he starts heading in your direction, you just remember your own advice, big guy. I'm counting four noses going out and I want to count the same number coming back."

*****

Peter climbed out of the back seat of Ecto-1 and stared in dismay at the scene of destruction laid out in front of them. A'nuit, all nine feet of him, was tromping through Central Park, growling and howling, knocking trees over with a mere swipe of his hand, hurling park benches like missiles, and unearthing huge clots of ground with his feet. The place looked like a war zone.

The terrified civilians in the park had long since bolted, and only the bravest--or most foolish--were lingering in the vicinity to watch the Ghostbusters at work. Even the police had retreated to the sidelines, having quickly discovered their weapons had no effect on the rampaging creature. Predictably, the media was out in full force and minicams were capturing the destructive events live as they unfolded. Peter grimaced as he saw the cameramen jockeying for the best positions; he loved being on the air as much as the next guy, but he wished the civilians weren't quite so close. A'nuit had a pretty long reach, and any one of those journalists or on-lookers could be in danger.

The demon chose that moment to uproot a good-sized oak and hurl it an easy fifty yards with no more apparent effort than Peter would have used to throw a softball. "Holy shit," he hissed. "Is it my imagination, or has he gotten bigger?"

"Bigger and meaner." Winston moved up beside him, his thrower already in his hands. "What the hell is he doing, anyhow?"

"Urban renewal?"

"I'm getting some very disturbing readings, gentlemen," Egon announced, frowning prodigiously at the PKE meter in his hands.

"Let me guess," Venkman muttered, unshipping his thrower. "Bigger and meaner, right?"

The physicist slid the psychologist a quick look. "Essentially correct. These readings are stronger than the ones I took during our other encounters with A'nuit."

"But how could his readings change?" Ray asked, his eyes fixed on the demon as A'nuit began tossing park benches into a nearby pond as if he were tossing pebbles.

"I don't know. But--" Spengler broke off, his frown deepening as he stared at the readings.

"What is it, Egon?" Stantz asked, standing on his toes in an attempt to peek over the taller man's shoulder to get a look at the meter's display.

"How very odd," the blond man murmured. "There was a fluctuation in the readings just then as if something were interfering. A sudden surge, but it's gone now."

"Bottom line, Egon," Peter demanded, tightening his grip on his thrower as he continued to track the demon's movements with his eyes. "Can we take him?"

Slipping the PKE meter into his pocket, Spengler pulled the atomic destabilizer from the back of Ecto. "I don't see where we have a choice," he said grimly. "Everyone set to maximum power. That's the only chance we'll have."

"I don't like the sound of that," Zeddemore grumbled, sweeping the battle area with a practiced eye. "If we move on him in a semi-circle, we won't run the danger of any of us getting caught in a crossfire--and maybe we can herd him away from these bozos," he suggested, jerking his head toward the growing number of on-lookers.

"Sounds like a plan," Peter agreed. "Winston, why don't you and Ray cut to the left and Egon and I'll come in from the right." The scientific half of their team sometimes forgot some of the basic rules of self-preservation when they got caught up in the fascination of encountering new non-life forms, and he always felt better when the team was configured so he and Winston were directly covering the other two. Zeddemore gave him a thumbs-up and moved out with Ray. Peter looked over at Egon, who had the destabilizer in his hands. "Ready, pard?"

Blue eyes blazed with determination from behind the red frames. "As I'll ever be. Let's do it."

They moved cautiously but deliberately toward the rampaging demon, hoping to trap him between them and the pond, but he saw them coming and moved with astonishing speed to escape being cornered. The Ghostbusters picked up their pace and followed.

"This isn't working," Ray called over to Egon and Peter. "At this rate he could lead us all over New York."

Venkman nodded immediate agreement. "We've got to try to contain him in the park if we can. Two of us should try to head him off." He shot a doubtful look at Egon. "I'm not sure you're up for a jog with that rocket launcher, Egon."

"I can make it," the physicist replied calmly. "Besides, the destabilizer is our best chance at stopping him. Without it, all our throwers are going to do is annoy him."

"Oh, good, like I really want to annoy this guy."

Waving to get Ray and Winston's attention, Egon pointed to himself and Peter, then gestured to the far side of the park.

Winston and Ray nodded their understanding and Ray yelled, "Be careful!" as Peter and Egon peeled off and began jogging at a brisk pace to try to get ahead of the demon.

Peter led the way, years of chasing ghosts through city streets and up and down flights of stairs with a proton pack on his back keeping him in shape enough to manage with little difficulty. He glanced back now and then to check on the progress of his friend, but Egon was keeping up nicely even with the awkward destabilizer to contend with. They were in the process of crossing one of the small bridges in the park when Peter's radio crackled to life.

"Pete, where are you?" Winston demanded.

Venkman looked around quickly as he snatched the radio from his belt. "Got the Mall in sight. We've almost got him cut off."

"Well, get back here to the lake. He's stopped and it looks like he's digging in for a fight."

"On our way." He and Egon had spun around and were running back toward the others even as Peter signed off. "Why do you think he's stopped, Egon? That's never been his style before. When he thinks he's being cornered, he just blips back to his own dimension."

The tall physicist's face was grim as he picked up his pace, his long legs eating up the distance between them and the other Ghostbusters. "I don't know, but I don't like the sound of it."

"Don't tell me," Venkman panted, "this could be bad, right?"

"Very bad," Spengler confirmed.

"Thought I told you not to tell me that."

*****

They found their team mates and A'nuit with no difficulty. The demon's roars were mixed with the crackle of proton fire, leading Peter and Egon directly to the site of the battle. Only it wasn't much of a battle. With only two proton packs the best Ray and Winston could do was fire off short bursts to keep the demon at bay as he took swipes at them with his deadly claws. This isn't right, Peter thought as he and Egon charged up to take a stance by their friends. He shouldn't be fighting like this. What's he after? Every other time we've cornered him he's cut and run.

Those questions fled his mind as he took a stand by Ray and opened fire. "Having fun, Tex?" he asked, shooting the occultist a wry smile.

The auburn-haired man spared him a glance, but it was enough for Peter to see the shining excitement in his brown eyes. "Isn't this great?" he enthused. "Maybe this time we'll really trap him."

"Nothing I'd like better," Peter muttered, dancing back as A'nuit lunged at him. "Ready with that destabilizer, Egon?" he called, glancing over at his friend. "Now might be a good time to use it."

The physicist nodded, swiftly adjusting the settings on the weapon. "Almost there. I'm adjusting for his increased readings."

Peter frowned as he, Ray and Winston spread out and took turns firing bursts of protons at the demon in an effort to keep him occupied while Egon made his modifications. Venkman was fairly certain A'nuit could rush them and get through the simultaneous beams of three proton rifles, but he didn't even try. He just kept moving sideways and the Ghostbusters had no choice but to trail along with him to keep between the demon and the crowd of on-lookers at the edge of the park. But, again, it felt wrong. A'nuit wasn't behaving in the same pattern he had in their other encounters and that bothered Venkman. He had the uneasy feeling A'nuit was trying to lead them somewhere, and that could only mean a trap.

Suddenly the reason for the demon's actions became all too clear. Reaching a small picnic area, he roared and effortlessly plucked up a picnic table which he hurled at Winston. As Zeddemore quickly flattened himself to the ground with a muttered curse, his rifle slipping from his hands, the demon turned with astonishing speed, picked up a bench, and threw it at Ray. With a cry of alarm, Stantz flung himself to one side, falling to the ground hard enough to knock the breath out of him. With Winston and Ray momentarily out of commission, that left Peter with one proton rifle to face a rampaging demon only a few yards away.

"Get that destabilizer working, Egon," he called nervously, backpedaling from A'nuit's steady advance. "I don't want to be a happy meal here."

Behind the demon Peter could see Winston and Ray frantically scrambling to their feet while Egon readied the destabilizer, his lean face tight with tension. A'nuit stopped his progression, raised one clawed hand, and pointed it at the psychologist. Peter felt something like an electric jolt zip though his body, then his world turned black and he felt nothing.

*****

"Peter!" Egon's hoarse shout coincided with the blast from his weapon, but he knew the instant he fired he was too late. A'nuit made a twisting little turn and disappeared just as the bolt from the destabilizer should have hit him. But Egon didn't take the time to think about checking for dimensional doorways or shifting portals; his eyes were riveted to the limp, unmoving form of Peter Venkman laying crumpled on the green grass of the park.

Winston and Ray reached their downed partner's side a scant second before Egon did. Zeddemore knelt over the motionless man and quickly checked for a pulse. A moment later his head shot up and his face was ashen. "I can't get a pulse. And he's not breathing." Then, as if he'd just heard what he said, he gave his head a sharp shake. "CPR, Ray," he ordered, his voice strangely harsh. "Now. Egon--call 911." Without waiting to see if either man obeyed his instructions, he began the methodical chest compression they had all learned in their emergency first aid courses. His face white and blank with shock, Ray moved automatically to take up a position beside Peter's head, his lips moving soundlessly as he counted the chest compressions to know when to begin forcing air into Peter's lungs.

This can't be happening. It cannot be happening! Egon spun around to look for a phone or emergency personnel and for the first time noticed the crowd that had gathered around them. Minicams were everywhere and he could hear the whirl of still cameras as photographers recorded their frantic efforts to revive Peter. A hand on his arm brought him sharply around to find a New York City policeman with a radio in his hand.

"We've called for the paramedics," the officer told him, glancing at the tableau on the ground a few feet away, then back at Egon with stark sympathy in his eyes. "They should be here shortly."

Spengler nodded numbly, then dropped down beside his friends, automatically picking up one of Peter's limp hands and squeezing it gently before moving to grasp the psychologist's wrist. One look at Winston's grim face told him all he needed to know even before he registered the fact there was no pulse to feel. Tears were running unchecked down Ray's face as he forced air into Peter's lungs. "Breathe, Peter, please breathe." The words were coming from Ray in soft sobs and Egon quickly laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Let me take over for a while, Ray." When the younger man shook his head and tried to pull away from his touch, Egon gently pressed Peter's hand into his. "Make sure he knows we're here," he said softly, and moved to take up the rhythm of breathing. The occultist clasped Peter's hand tightly to his chest, his sobs coming in earnest.

Time and time again Egon forced air into Peter's lungs, but Venkman's body made no attempt to react to his desperate ministrations. When Egon raised his head from his resuscitation, he caught Winston's eye and saw the terrible knowledge there before the black man quickly returned his attention to the unresponsive chest under his hands. As they continued to wait for the paramedics, Egon and Winston switched positions, Zeddemore taking over the mouth-to-mouth resuscitation efforts while Egon compressed Peter's unmoving chest, all the while watching frantically for some sign of response. "No," he ground out, forcing himself to maintain the smooth rhythm when what he wanted to do was take Peter by the shoulders and shake him until he opened his eyes. "No, no, no. Don't you give up, Venkman. Do you hear me? Don't you dare give up." But there was no response from the psychologist, not even the faintest flicker of life.

"Egon. Egon."

Spengler barely registered the insistent voice in his ear or the hand that gently shook his shoulder. A moment later a strong arm encircled his chest and he was pulled forcibly away from Peter. "No!" Lunging back toward the still form, he found himself instead wrapped in a steel embrace.

"The medics are here, Egon," Winston said urgently. "Come on, man, let them do their job." It was only then Spengler saw that a bearded stranger in a uniform had taken over mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Winston and another paramedic had worked his way in beside Egon and was busy compressing Venkman's chest, a look of profound concentration on his youthful face.

"Let's get out of the way," Zeddemore was saying.

Egon didn't move. His eyes were riveted to the bearded man's face as the paramedic quickly checked for a pulse. "How long have you been doing CPR?" he asked without looking up.

When all three Ghostbusters hesitated, none of them certain of the elapsed time, the policeman who had placed the call answered, "Fifteen minutes."

The bearded medic glanced up then and exchanged a look with his partner that sent a chill knifing through Egon.

Strong hands suddenly pulled Egon to his feet and turned him away as the emergency team prepared to transfer Peter to the ambulance. There was a haunted look in Zeddemore's dark eyes and a quaver threaded through his voice as he insisted, "This isn't helping anybody. Let's get back to Ecto so we can follow them to the hospital."

"I'm going with him," Ray announced, stepping in front of the other two Ghostbusters. His face was deathly pale as he watched the EMT personnel continue their efforts to revive Peter even as they placed him on a gurney. "One of us should be with him," he insisted, his voice suddenly becoming uncharacteristically strident. "He shouldn't be alone. I won't let him be alone."

He's losing it, Egon realized, and quickly put an arm around the younger man's shoulders, feeling them quiver uncontrollably under his touch. "He won't be alone, Ray," he said gently.

The bearded medic turned and let his hooded eyes sweep over them. "I'm sorry," he said in a tone curt with urgency. "There won't be room. And there's really--" He bit off the rest of the words and looked away, his jaw tightening. After a moment he continued carefully, "We're going to St. Luke's. You can meet us there."

There's really no point. That's what he was going to say. There's no point in going with him because...Oh dear god... Egon stared at the pale, unmoving form that was being loaded into the back of the waiting ambulance and suddenly felt his knees buckle. If Winston hadn't grabbed his arm he would have fallen and taken Ray with him.

*****

Winston felt like someone had kicked him, hard, in the gut. Peter was dead. That single thought echoed through his mind in a growing cacophony until it overwhelmed all others. Peter is dead. He knew it, Egon knew it, Ray knew it. They had known it when their friend's body had been placed into the ambulance to be brought here and they knew it as they waited in the small, private waiting room for final pronouncement by a doctor, a formal validation of the grief that was already chilling their souls.

From his position sagging against the wall, Zeddemore raised his head despondently to let his eyes rest on the other two Ghostbusters. Egon and Ray were sitting side-by-side on the worn sofa, the physicist's long face blank with shock, only his eyes showing any expression at all. The pain there was so searing Winston might have thought the cause was physical if he hadn't known the real reason for it. Beside Spengler sat Ray, his body hunched over so his face was hidden from sight. Winston couldn't see his expression, but Ray's turmoil was evident from the shudders that periodically racked his body and the way his hands were joined in a crushing grip in his lap.

Looking down, Winston discovered his own hands were clenched into balls, the nails biting deep into his palms. For a moment he stared at his fists, then in a surge of angry frustration slammed one balled hand back into the wall, regretting the action immediately when the unexpected noise made both scientists jump.

Ray's head shot up and Winston caught a glimpse of red-rimmed brown eyes before Stantz again dropped his head, this time pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. Egon, who had been staring uncomprehendingly at Winston, immediately turned his attention to Ray as if that movement from the occultist reminded him he wasn't alone. As Winston watched, sorrow ingrained itself even deeper into the lines of the physicist's face, and he slid fractionally closer to Ray, carefully easing an arm around the bowed shoulders. The younger man responded to the touch instantly, dropping his hands and leaning into the offered comfort, tears leaking from under his tightly closed lids. Spengler gently tugged again and the occultist turned completely toward him, pressing his face against the older man's chest. Egon closed both arms around him, running one hand up and down the quivering back in an automatic gesture of comfort. After a moment he looked up and blue eyes, lifeless and empty, met Winston's briefly before sliding shut. The feeling of loss in the small waiting room was almost palpable.

His own eyes burning, Winston took a step toward them, then halted when a white-coated doctor appeared in the doorway. The physician met his gaze somberly and inclined his head toward Egon and Ray, a question in his eyes. Nodding, Winston walked over to the two scientists, laid a hand on Spengler's shoulder and said gently, "Egon."

The blond head raised slowly and Egon blinked his eyes open. When he saw the doctor he stiffened, then dipped his head and murmured something to Ray. Stantz responded by slowly pulling away from the haven of the older man's chest and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, but he kept his eyes averted, not looking at either the doctor or Winston. As one, he and Egon rose, the physicist keeping one arm around the younger man's shoulders. Winston moved beside Egon and laid a hand on his shoulder and thus anchored, the three of them faced the waiting physician.

The doctor, a dark-haired man even taller than Egon with a thick mustache and deep-set aqua eyes, adjusted his glasses in a gesture reminiscent of Spengler's. He looked at each of them in turn, his gaze sympathetic, before saying quietly, "I'm very sorry. There was nothing we could do. He was already gone when they brought him in."

They had known that, of course, but hearing it confirmed was like being dealt a physical blow. Egon actually fell back a half-step before recovering and finding his voice. "We want to see him," he said, his normally composed voice strained almost to the point of breaking.

The physician nodded. "Of course. We've moved the--Dr. Venkman," he corrected hastily, "to another room so you could have some privacy. If you gentlemen would follow me, I'll take you to him."

*****

They had moved Peter to a small, private room. He had even been transferred from the gurney to a regular hospital bed and the covers were pulled up and smoothed over his still chest. His jumpsuit lay neatly folded on the visitor's chair, his boots placed out of the way underneath. His dark hair, which had been in such disarray after their frantic efforts to revive him, had been combed neatly into place and, although whoever did it didn't have Peter's flair for styling it, the fact that someone had gone to the trouble instead of whisking him directly to the morgue touched Egon deeply. The back of his throat began to burn as he thought how Peter would have loved the attention.

The three of them gathered silently around the bed and looked down at their friend. From underneath the covers peeked the top of Peter's Hard Rock Cafe, The Netherworld T-shirt Ray had given him for his birthday last year. There was no sign of violence on the composed, handsome face, no evidence of any sort of struggle or attack. It had all happened so fast, so unexpectedly, so inexplicably that even after medical corroboration Egon could barely force himself to believe what he was seeing. Or not seeing. There was no sign of life in Peter, no flickering movement under his eyelids, no rise and fall of the blankets to indicate breathing. Egon knew if he laid his head on his friend's chest he would hear no steady, thudding heartbeat and if he touched Peter's skin he would feel no warmth of blood rushing through the veins. Peter's heart had been stilled, his spirit already released.

"Peter."

Ray's choked whisper brought Egon's head up and he watched as the occultist carefully eased Venkman's arm out from under the covers and pressed the limp hand between his. Tears slid unchecked down Ray's grief-ravaged face as he gently massaged the still-pliant skin of the lifeless hand. "I'm sorry, Peter." His voice broke completely on the psychologist's name and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, pressing the captured hand to his chest. "It happened so fast. We didn't know--we couldn't--" The rest of his words were lost in sobs and he could only stand there, his body shaking, Peter's hand clasped in his, as tears streaked down his cheeks.

Egon stood helplessly beside him, his own grief so profound he felt incapable of offering solace, even to Ray. It was as if someone had reached into his soul and ripped out a vital piece, as if he had sustained a wound that would never heal. But even as his own pain threatened to overwhelm him his natural compassion would not be denied. With a soft, shuddering sigh he laid his hands on Ray's shoulders and squeezed. The younger man immediately leaned back into the support, his body shaking with new intensity. They stood like that for a long time until finally Ray let out a long, shaky breath, opened his eyes and gently placed Venkman's hand on top of the covers. "I'll see you on the Other Side, Dr. Venkman," he whispered, his voice hoarse with tears. "We love you." He gave the psychologist's hand one last squeeze, then turned and fled the room.

From their positions across from one another, Egon and Winston shared a long look, then Zeddemore sighed and stepped up closer to the bed. He, too, took Peter's hand, but he didn't say anything for a long time, merely gazed down at their lost friend with deep sadness in his eyes. Egon wondered briefly how many friends Winston had been forced to bid good-bye on one battlefield or another. Zeddemore cleared his throat, then in a quiet voice laced with anger said, "I don't know what happened out there, Pete, but we're gonna find that demon and he's gonna pay. And that's a promise from Winston Zeddemore." He had to clear his throat once more as his voice threatened to give out, and when he spoke again his tone was soft as, like Ray, he carefully replaced the limp hand on the covers. "I'm gonna miss you, buddy. You were one of a kind, and I'm proud to have been your friend. Rest well, Peter. You've earned it." As he walked away from the bed he paused to lay a hand briefly on Egon's shoulder, then left the room.

In the silence that followed, Egon gazed down into the peaceful, vacant face of the man who had been his oldest and best friend. Contrasting the blankness of those familiar features with the animation and mischief that usually resided there, Egon suddenly felt the full impact of his loss. No longer feeling the need to hold his emotions in check for Ray's sake, he allowed his quivering knees to buckle and sank down heavily into the chair on top of Peter's jumpsuit. Fumbling, he pulled off his glasses, dropped his face into his hands and finally released the anguished grief he had managed to keep at bay in Ray's presence. With the door closed, he was insulated from the normal hospital sounds in the corridor outside, and the only noise in the room was the sound of his deep, ragged sobbing.

A thousand images kaleidoscoped through his mind, drawn from the lifetime he and Peter had shared as students, colleagues, partners and friends. Those images were filled with life, laughter, good-natured arguments, intense debates, gleeful teasing, diabolical practical jokes, moments of sheer terror, acts of sacrifice, feats of incredible bravery, and always, always the deepest, most intimate friendship Egon had ever known.

All that was gone, ripped away in one instant of unexplained horror. He would never forget the look of absolute astonishment on Peter's face the moment before he collapsed. He had literally not known what had hit him and for that, Egon could actually be grateful. At least it had happened quickly and, he could only pray, painlessly. Even as Peter had fallen to the ground it must have been too late to save him, although Egon had refused to believe it. There had been so many close calls in their careers as Ghostbusters, so many seeming miracles before, that he had kept believing--hoping--there would be one more. But there was to be no miracle this time, no inspired esoteric scientific solution. There was no antidote to death, even in science. Another sob caught in his throat and he choked on it before it finally escaped. There was more grief in his soul than could ever be released with tears; the pain of this loss would be with him like his own shadow for the rest of his life.

At long last his sobs subsided and he released a deep, quivering breath, straightening with an effort. Wiping his eyes, he replaced his glasses, bringing his friend's composed features slowly into focus. "Oh, my old friend," he murmured, his voice raw from tears, "you have no idea how much you have enriched my life, and how very much I shall miss you." He let his gaze linger on the familiar, pale face, noting how whoever had combed Peter's hair had forced that stubborn wave in front into submission. Peter probably could have done that as well if he'd tried, but Egon had long suspected the psychologist liked the rakish look the unruly curl gave him. Besides, the more hair Peter had to look at in the mirror every morning, the more it probably took his mind off the way his father was rapidly losing his. That particular genetic feature was not something Venkman liked to be reminded of. Standing, Egon curled one hand around Peter's and raised the other, gently threading two fingers into the thick hair to release the captured curl. He watched with a tiny, sad smile as it sprang to life and dipped over Peter's left eye, nearly touching the dark eyebrow. Peter had just been complaining the other day that they'd been too busy recently for him to even get a haircut.

Egon tasted fresh tears as he let his knuckles trail down the side of his friend's face in a gentle caress, struggling to speak over the lump that had formed in his throat. "Know that I love you, Peter," he whispered, straining to keep his voice steady. "Wherever you are, carry that with you." Drawing a deep, bracing breath, he gave the limp hand one final squeeze, then carefully tucked it back under the covers.

After taking an inordinate amount of time to make sure the covers were once again smooth and wrinkle-free, Egon still hesitated, reluctant to leave. Although he knew it was too late for Peter to hear what he was saying--and he would regret that for the rest of his life--he was taking some small comfort in spending time with his friend. He imagined briefly that if Peter were there, he would probably shake his head in affectionate exasperation, tap him on the chest and say, Come on, Spengs, enough is enough already. Get out there and find a way to kick that demon's butt before he hurts someone else. The next time it might be a civilian, or even a child. Find out what he did to me and make sure he never does it again.

As if he had actually heard those words from the psychologist, Egon nodded solemnly. "You have my word." He took one long, last look at his friend's composed face, then in a voice so soft the words were nearly lost even in the silence of the room, said with deep, quiet pride, "It's been an honor working with you, Dr. Venkman." Leaning over, he pressed his lips against the smooth, cool forehead, then quickly turned and strode from the room, not allowing himself to look back.

The hospital room door closed behind him with a soft thud and Egon stood motionless for several moments, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. An important part of his life had just been ripped away and he felt a gnawing emptiness beginning to grow inside him. Abruptly, he opened his eyes, pushed away from the door, and stumbled down the hospital corridor, his mind too numb to even take note of what direction he was going.

The hospital had arranged for the Ghostbusters to have the use of a small, private waiting room to avoid the hoards of journalists who were waiting like vultures outside, ready to pounce at the first sight of one of the team. Without knowing how he got there, Egon found himself standing in the doorway of that waiting room, staring blankly at Winston, who was sitting on the worn sofa, head in his hands.

*****

Winston sensed rather than heard Egon's approach. His head snapped up, he took one look at the physicist's grief-lined face and unfocussed eyes, and jumped to his feet. Quickly crossing the room, he stopped beside the taller man and eased an arm across his shoulders. "Come on, Egon," he ordered gently, "you look like you need to get off your feet for a while."

Spengler allowed himself to be led over to the couch, although it took Winston a moment or two to get him seated. Zeddemore dropped down beside him, his eyes sweeping carefully over the lean form. The trembling that started almost imperceptibly with Egon's tightly clasped hands rapidly spread through his body until he was shaking uncontrollably.

"Oh, man," Winston breathed, and tightened his grip around the blond man's shoulders.

That contact brought Egon's head around, but his eyes were filled with shock and disbelief. "He's gone, Winston," he said, his voice nearly inaudible. "He's really gone. We've lost Peter."

Without a word Zeddemore pulled the grieving man into a hard embrace. He had never seen Egon look so shaken, so utterly lost. There were no words he could offer to ease the soul-deep pain Egon was experiencing, so Winston merely held him, silently supporting him as the racking tremors ran their course. Finally, Spengler's breathing eased out to almost normal and he pulled back. Zeddemore gave him one final squeeze, then released him.

The physicist removed his glasses and wiped his eyes, his hands still noticeably unsteady. "I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely.

"For what?" Winston asked kindly. "I know how tight you two were--and how much you loved him."

Spengler looked at him then, his blue eyes huge and vulnerable without his glasses, the naked pain shining through the lingering tears in his eyes. "I can't even begin to describe what his friendship meant to me," he said, his voice stretched thin with his effort to keep it steady. "He has been in my life for so long it seems impossible to think--" He broke off, pressing a hand tightly against his eyes. "I'm going to miss him more than I can say, Winston. I simply cannot believe he's gone."

Zeddemore sighed heavily, rubbing his own eyes as fresh tears gathered there. He knew how hard Peter's death had hit him, and he couldn't begin to imagine how it must be tearing Egon and Ray apart.

"Ray. Where's Ray?" As if Winston's thoughts had somehow penetrated his, Egon fumbled to get his glasses on as he urgently searched the waiting room for their youngest partner. "Winston, where--"

"He's in the mens'," Winston broke in, laying a calming hand on the physicist's arm. "I checked on him a few minutes ago, but he...I think you're going to have to talk to him."

Spengler nodded, automatically accepting the responsibility inferred in that statement. "He shouldn't be alone right now. None of us should," he added as he got stiffly to his feet, his tall frame sagging under the weight of his grief. He took a step toward the doorway leading to the restrooms, then stopped, his hands clenching. "If only I had been faster with that destabilizer," he blurted. "If only I'd been able to make the adjustments sooner--"

Zeddemore sprang to his feet, grabbed the physicist by the arm and pulled him sharply around. "Stop it," he ordered harshly. "Just stop that kind of talk right now. Nobody made any mistakes out there."

Spengler's anguished eyes locked with Winston's and in a voice choked with pain he corrected, "We lost Peter."

Winston flinched, then recovered, swallowing hard before he attempted to speak. "We lost Peter," he agreed softly. "But you know what Pete would say if he thought you were blaming yourself for that."

A fragile, sad smile touched Spengler's lips. "I can think of any number of things he might say, none of them particularly complimentary."

That drew a weak chuckle from Winston. "I hear you," he grinned, several possibilities playing through his mind as well. Then his grin faded and his tone grew sober again. "Just remember that, Egon. Ray and I were both out of commission out there. Even if you had fired a second or two earlier, there's no guarantee you could have changed what happened."

"No, but--"

"No 'buts'," Zeddemore said flatly. "Just get that thought out of your head right now. Ray and I both know it wasn't your fault--and so did Peter."

If he was hoping to coax some kind of acknowledgment from the physicist, Winston was disappointed. His eyes still stark with dreadful pain, Egon nudged his glasses back into place with a nervous jab. "There will be arrangements to be made," he said, squaring his shoulders. "Paperwork to be seen to, decisions regarding the disposition of--" He broke off, his face stricken. After a moment he continued in a carefully controlled voice, "I'll take care of all the arrangements."

"You don't have to do it all," Winston rebuked gently. "Let us help. We're all in this together, you know."

Egon's eyes flew to Winston's face. "Of course we are," he said immediately. "Winston, don't ever think I'm trying to exclude you--"

Zeddemore dropped a warm hand on the physicist's shoulder. "Never thought it for a minute," he said easily. "I just want you to remember Ray and I are here, too, and we're all gonna have to help each other through this." He gave the shoulder under his hand a squeeze, then released it. "None of us are alone in this, Egon. We're still part of a team--that's the way Peter would want it."

Something like wistfulness flickered across Spengler's drawn features and he said softly, "Yes, that is the way Peter would want it. This team was very important to him and none of us will ever forget that." He straightened a little, forcing stiffness into his spine. "I'd better go see to Ray."

"If you want, I'll check on him again."

The blond man shook his head. "Thank you, but I need to talk to him." His face grew bleak as he stared at the opposite wall. "Although I have no idea what I'm going to say."

"There's nothing to say, is there?"

Both men looked around in surprise to find Ray standing in the doorway of the waiting room, his face showing unmistakable evidence of prolonged crying. He seemed completely spent, as if it were taking all his energy just to remain on his feet.

Egon was by his side in an instant. "Ray, are you all right?" he asked gently.

The occultist looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "I just want to go home, Egon," he said in a choked voice. "Can we leave now?"

"Of course we can," Egon replied immediately, placing an arm protectively across the younger man's shoulders. Winston moved to join them, taking up a position on the other side of the occultist. They were no doubt going to have to run the gauntlet through the swarm of reporters outside, but Winston already had plans as to what he was going to do to the first media person who stuck a microphone in their faces.

They had just stepped into the corridor when a trio of sober-faced men approached. The first two Winston recognized: one was the uniformed officer from Central Park and the other was the doctor who spoke to them earlier. The third man was dressed in a cheap suit and tie and he had the look of a cop; probably a plainclothes detective, Winston guessed. As the three converged on them, he muttered, "Now what?"

His arm still across Stantz' shoulders, Egon sighed wearily. "Whatever this is about, gentlemen, can't it wait until tomorrow?"

The uniformed officer took a step forward, his tone respectful. "Dr. Spengler, the mayor has arranged for a police escort for you. There's a mob of reporters both outside and back at your headquarters, but if you don't want to be bothered, my men will see to it you get through without any incidents."

Winston felt a rush of gratitude toward the mayor. They hadn't always had the best working relationship with His Honor, but it was good to know the man could come through when it counted.

Spengler's face relaxed and he nodded gratefully. "Please thank His Honor for us. We'll gladly accept--" He broke of abruptly, his already pale features draining even further. "The firehall. Janine." He looked at Winston, his face stricken. "I didn't call her."

Winston scrubbed a hand wearily over his face. None of them had thought to call their secretary about what had happened to Peter. "You say there are reporters at Central already?" he asked the officer.

"It's all over the news," the policeman replied apologetically. "All the local TV crews were there when it happened. It's probably gone national by now."

Zeddemore looked at the physicist. "She already knows, Egon," he said quietly. He hated like hell to think of Janine finding out that way, but there was no way to change it now.

"I should have called her--"

"None of us thought to call her. There's nothing we can do about it now except get back there as soon as we can."

Spengler bobbed his head quickly and turned to leave, only to find his way blocked by the doctor and the other man. "Dr. Spengler," the physician said, "we really didn't get introduced earlier. I'm Dr. Brand and this is Detective Wallace."

Egon nodded impatiently to both. "I'm afraid we're in somewhat of a hurry," he said bluntly. "I know there are arrangements to be made, but perhaps I can call you tomorrow--"

"I'm afraid you don't quite understand the situation, Dr. Spengler," Detective Wallace interrupted. He was a compact man with close-set gray eyes and thinning red hair. He had the look of someone who had decided long ago that in his line of work sparing compassion on victims would only make his job harder. "I'm from Homicide." When that produced no reaction from Egon, he continued, "We'll be needing statements from all of you, of course, but the mayor has asked the captain to delay that for a while." He shrugged. "We already have enough eye witnesses and taped evidence, so that part is only a formality."

Winston could see Egon's patience had begun to run out. "And the point of this discussion, Detective?" Spengler asked with no attempt at courtesy.

Wallace looked at him with dispassionate eyes. "I'm afraid you won't be able to make any 'arrangements' at the moment, Doctor. Due to the circumstances of Dr. Venkman's death we have no choice but to order an autopsy."

There was a moment of stunned silence, then three voices rose as one:

"I will not allow that."

"Man, you're outta your mind."

"You can't!"

Wallace was unmoved. "I'm sorry, gentlemen," he said, although Winston could hear no real regret in his tone. "But I'm afraid we have no choice. Even the mayor agrees on this one. The autopsy is scheduled for nine o'clock tomorrow morning." As Egon drew himself up to square off with the detective, Wallace turned to confront him. "Do you know what caused Dr. Venkman's death?"

The physicist's jaw tightened, but he shook his head. "No, I do not. But we can run tests--"

"We'll be running our own tests. From everything I saw, we've got some kind of creature out there who can kill people without laying a finger on them. We've got to find how he did that to Venkman."

Dr. Brand touched Egon lightly on the arm. "Don't you want to know what caused your friend's death?" he asked quietly.

It was Ray who answered the question in a toneless, flat voice. "What difference does it make? He's dead."

"But perhaps what we learn from the autopsy will help prevent other deaths," Brand pointed out gently.

Stantz turned his grief-ravaged face to Egon. "Don't let them do it, Egon," he begged. "Don't let them do that to Peter."

Winston saw a war of emotions flash across Spengler's face. "He is right in one respect, Ray," Egon said in a carefully controlled voice. "We have to know what it was that...killed Peter. Unless we know, we will be unable to fight A'nuit effectively." He looked down at the occultist, sorrow aging him years. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "But Peter wouldn't want us to risk any more lives."

Winston cleared the lump out of his throat. "He's right, homeboy. If this can help, you know Pete would be all for it."

Stantz looked at them both, then turned his face away.

"We don't need your permission," Wallace told them. "We're simply informing you as a matter of courtesy."

"Courtesy." Winston fairly spat the word. One look at the shaken faces of his colleagues told him enough was enough. Grabbing an arm of each, he propelled them out the door. "We'll take that police escort now," he announced, and as the uniformed officer hurried to catch up, Zeddemore privately pitied the first journalist who had the bad judgment to get in his way

*****

It was a long, silent ride back to the firehall. The officers dispatched as escort did their jobs professionally, and with as much relish as if they were the Secret Service protecting the President. In his job as a Ghostbuster, Winston had had many opportunities to talk with patrolmen all over the city and he had found many of them felt a sort of fraternity with the Ghostbusters due to the danger involved in their respective jobs and the way they each looked out for their partners. That may have had something to do with the determined way the cops plowed through the mob of reporters to get them to Ecto.

Late afternoon traffic was heavy, but Ecto moved through it steadily, aided by the patrol car leading the way. Winston glanced into the back seat several times during the drive, but neither Egon nor Ray seemed to notice. The two scientists sat at either side of the back seat, both staring blankly at the passing scenery. As far as Winston could tell, neither man had so much as uttered a word since they climbed into the car.

He turned his attention back to the street, exhaling softly. At a time when they should be pulling closer together for support, they seemed to be drifting apart, each of them locked into their own private world of pain. He was certain it wasn't deliberate on Ray or Egon's part; both men were too shell-shocked to really understand what was happening. Zeddemore rubbed his eyes tiredly, wishing Peter were with them because he would know what to do. Peter had understood the dynamics of their team better than anyone. During bad times, if it seemed they were on the verge of pulling apart instead of pulling together, Venkman stepped in without hesitation. He bullied, cajoled, threatened, teased, blackmailed, whatever it took; but he got them talking. Winston wondered soberly who was going to do that now.

Thanks to the efforts of New York's Finest, Winston was able to pull directly into the firehall and close the door behind them without a single reporter getting close enough to even lay a finger on Ecto. With a sigh he shut off the engine and the three of them sat in the sudden silence, none of them willing to make the first move to climb out.

It was the sight of Janine's tear-streaked face that prompted Egon into action. The secretary was standing in front of her desk, hugging herself as if she were freezing. On her desk Winston could see the small portable TV she kept around for amusement when business was slow. Beside the TV, he could see she had taken the phone off the hook.

The moment Egon stepped out of the car Janine broke and ran. By the time Winston and Ray had climbed out of Ecto, she was wrapped in his embrace, her face pressed tight against his chest. "It's really true, isn't it, Egon?" she demanded, her voice muffled.

The physicist nodded, one hand stroking her hair in an automatic gesture of comfort. "Yes, Janine, it's true."

"But how? Why?" The red-headed woman pushed herself away far enough to stare up at him, anger and pain warring in her tone. "What happened?"

The blond man shook his head, his voice cracking as he answered, "I don't know."

Just when Winston was debating whether to try to peel Janine away from Egon to give the physicist a little space, he heard a strangled sob and quickly turned his attention in the direction it had come from. Ray was standing by Janine's desk, staring at a film clip on the TV that showed in excruciating detail their frantic, and unsuccessful, efforts to revive Peter at the Park.

"Ray, no." Egon took a step toward the occultist, but Winston was faster.

"I don't think we need to see this, Ray," he said quietly, and flipped off the TV.

Ray stared at the blank screen for a moment, then turned and fled up the stairs. Zeddemore took a step after him, then hesitated and looked inquiringly at Egon. But the blond man had already gently disentangled himself from Janine and was moving toward the stairs.

Winston walked over to the petite woman and without a word put his arms around her. She returned the embrace tightly, sniffling near his ear. "I can't believe it," she said shakily. "I've seen it over and over and I still can't believe it."

Zeddemore closed his eyes and sighed. "I was there and I can't believe it."

*****

Egon stood in the doorway of their sleeping quarters, one hand braced against the door frame. Ray was sitting on the edge of his bed, his Dopey Dog stuffed animal clutched tightly to his chest, staring at Peter's bed. It was the sight of Peter's bed that froze Egon also, and caused him to quickly fortify himself against an almost unbearable onslaught of emotions.

Peter's bed was unmade, the covers thrown back hastily when his nap had been interrupted by the bust that had ended so tragically. For some reason Egon suddenly remembered the pillow fight that had broken out between Ray and Peter only a few nights ago and which had rapidly drawn in Winston and himself. It had been an exhausting couple of weeks, with busts seeming to come at ever closer intervals, and a number of very close calls for the team. Spengler suspected Peter had precipitated the diversion deliberately, realizing they all needed a release from the stress that had been steadily building, and knowing a good old-fashioned pillow fight was a good way to do just that.

Tearing his eyes away from the four-poster bed with an effort, he walked slowly into the room and eased down onto the mattress beside Ray. Without a word, he draped an arm around the younger man's shoulders and pulled him closer, then snaked the other arm around Stantz' chest so he had Ray caught in a tight embrace. Ray came willingly, dropping his head to rest on Egon's shoulder. After a few moments Spengler could hear the occultist's breath catching as he fought tears.

"How can he be gone, Egon? How can Peter be gone?"

That was a question that had haunted Egon ever since he had watched the body of his friend being loaded into the ambulance in Central Park. And it was a question that would haunt him for the rest of his life. But he had no answers, not for Ray and not for himself. Instead of trying to offer any type of response he rested his cheek on the top of Ray's head and the two of them sat in silence, sharing their grief, but wrapped in their own thoughts.

"Egon?"

At length Ray's soft voice broke the stillness and Egon raised his head, looking down into the occultist's upturned face. "Yes, Ray?" Stantz hesitated so long and looked so uncertain that Egon prompted gently, "What is it, Raymond?"

The younger man dropped his gaze before saying in a rush, "I'm sorry about the autopsy. I know it has to be done and I know Peter would have wanted us to find a way to stop A'nuit, no matter what it took. It's just..." He shuddered, his voice dropping miserably. "I just hate to think about it. I can't stand to think about what they're going to be doing to him."

Egon felt his own body react with a violent shiver as something he had been desperately trying to block from his conscious mind suddenly forced itself to the forefront of his thoughts. It settled there, dark, heavy and ugly, and would not be moved. It had come to him during that silent, interminable ride from the hospital, and although he had tried to ignore it--even banish it--it would not be ignored. He knew quite clearly what his duty was...he just wasn't certain if he could fulfill that duty and maintain his sanity.

Carefully modulating his voice, he said, "Unfortunately, a simple medical autopsy isn't going to give us anything helpful. It will tell the medical examiner Peter's bodily functions ceased, but it won't tell him why. Along with the autopsy we're going to need more...specialized information. The kind of information that can only be obtained through our equipment."

Ray had been looking at Egon, his face puzzled, but as the significance of what the physicist was saying finally sank in he gasped, twisting around so he pulled out of Spengler's grip. "Egon, you can't!"

"I must," he said quietly, trying to ignore the fact his stomach was trying to turn itself inside out at the very thought of what he was proposing. "One of us must be present to take readings when they perform the autopsy. That is the only way we're going to obtain the information we need to fight A'nuit, and perhaps save a life the next time."

Ray's face filled with horror at what Egon was suggesting. "But, that's Peter! You can't just stand there and watch while--while--" His face drained and he couldn't go on.

"It has to be done, Ray," Egon insisted doggedly. "It's the only way."

Stantz grabbed his hand, squeezing it so tightly Egon winced. "But not you, Egon," he insisted. "There's got to be some other way. Maybe someone else." His eyes lit with sudden hope. "Winston!"

Spengler shook his head, dismissing the suggestion immediately. "I can't ask Winston to do that, Ray, and in any event, all he would be able to do is record basic readings. He doesn't have the specialized knowledge needed to be able to adjust the instruments for the spectrum of readings that will have to be taken." He hesitated, then with as much professional detachment as he could manufacture, said, "We'll only get one chance at this, and we can't afford any mistakes."

Ray stared at him, his face reflecting a mixture of dread and disbelief. Then suddenly he turned away, biting his lip hard. "I can't do it, Egon," he choked. "I'm sorry, but I just can't."

"I know that," Spengler said gently, once again wrapping an arm around the younger man's chest. "Nor would I allow it. I'll be the one taking the readings. That's settled."

Still turned away, Ray squeezed the arm encircling him, then let his hands fall away. "Why did this happen to happen?" he asked in a lifeless voice. "Why did Peter have to die?"

At a loss for an answer to that question as much as Ray, Egon could only shake his head and offer hoarsely, "I don't know."

I don't know. That was the only answer he seemed to have, and with every admission of ignorance his failure weighed on him more heavily.

Twisting in Egon's arms, Ray turned and caught him in a hard embrace. Egon could feel the wetness of tears where the side of Ray's face pressed tight against his and he felt the younger man's body shake as Stantz struggled for control. For several minutes they remained locked together, then Ray slowly pulled away and Egon gently released him.

Scrubbing the traces of tears away with one hand, the occultist asked in a small voice, "What about Peter's dad?"

Spengler's eyes slid shut. He hadn't even thought about Peter's father.

"How are we going to get in touch with him? We don't even know where he is."

"I don't believe you were here when Peter got the letter from his father." Spengler removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, remembering how upset the psychologist had been over his father's latest scheme. "He's in South Africa."

"South Africa?" Ray's tone reflected his shock.

"Something about a diamond mine. Peter predicted disaster, but by the time he received the letter his father had already left the country. As far as I know he left Peter no instructions on how to get in touch with him." Egon's mouth tightened in irritation. "That was typical of him."

"But we've got to get word to him." Ray's face fell. "Egon, how are we going to tell him about Peter? How are we going to tell him Peter's..."

When Ray couldn't finish the question, Egon sighed and replaced his glasses on his nose. "I'm afraid I know of no way to get in touch with Mr. Venkman at this time." He was silent for a moment, then added softly, "But I don't think we need to be concerned about him reading about it in the papers, not in South Africa. However I will contact the South African Embassy and see if they have any suggestions for locating him. Peter wouldn't want his father finding out about what happened from strangers."

Ray nodded immediately. "We have to try to find him. For Peter."

"We will."

Stantz nodded again, his gaze fixed on Peter's unmade bed. Suddenly he sprang to his feet. "I think I'll take a shower," he blurted, and bolted into the bathroom, closing the door quickly behind him. Within seconds Egon could hear the shower running, although Ray couldn't have possibly had time to get out of his clothes. The physicist listened to the sound of the running water for some time, then climbed slowly to his feet, wishing he knew of some way to help Ray through the worst of his grief, yet at the same time realizing what a hopeless wish that was. Their grief at the moment was numbed somewhat by shock; tomorrow when some of that wore off he was certain the pain would be even more acute. It made him wish the numbness would last longer and go deeper.

As he crossed the room, he paused at the four-poster bed, gazing at the rumpled blankets and discarded socks that peeked out from underneath the frame. Deliberately, and with infinite care, he pulled up the covers, tucked them in snugly and smoothed out all the wrinkles. Only after Venkman's bed was completely re-made did he quietly leave the room.

His feet heavy with weariness, Egon walked across the hallway and stepped into his dark lab, closing the door behind him with a shaky sigh. For some minutes he didn't even turn on the light; he simply stood there in the dark, grateful for the solitude and order surrounding him in his retreat. He badly needed both.

He had just reluctantly flipped on the light when a quiet voice spoke his name. He spun around, heart slamming into his chest, to find Winston standing in the farthest corner of the room. "Winston." Zeddemore's name came out as an explosion of breath. "I didn't know anyone was here."

Winston stepped out of the shadows and walked across the lab to join him, his eyes never leaving Egon's face. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I was coming upstairs to check on you two and I heard what you were saying to Ray." He stopped directly in front of Egon, shaking his head in open disbelief. "Egon, you can't mean what you said in there. You're actually going to take readings at Peter's autopsy?"

Egon stiffened, then turned away and deliberately walked over to his lab table. Without conscious thought he began randomly rearranging the tools he always kept there in perfect order. "It has to be done," he said, praying the other man didn't hear the betraying quiver in his voice. "And I'm the best qualified."

Zeddemore had followed him over to the table and spoke from directly behind him. "I'm not arguing that, but do you have any idea what they're going to be doing--"

The wire stripper in Spengler's hand dropped onto the table with a loud metallic clank. He immediately picked it up again to try to disguise his badly shaking hands. "I know what an autopsy involves." An iron-like grip on his arm abruptly pulled him around and he found himself held firmly in place by two heavy hands on his shoulders.

"And do you have any idea," Winston asked bluntly, "what seeing that done--to Peter--is going to do to you?"

Spengler physically flinched at the question and tried unsuccessfully to pull out from under Winston's tight grip. "Winston, please--"

"No." Zeddemore's tone was almost harsh in its intensity as he tightened his fingers and gave Egon a little shake for emphasis. "Listen to me, Egon. I know what you're saying about that demon and what we might be able to learn from taking readings, but it doesn't have to be you."

"I'm afraid it does," Spengler replied evenly. "The only other person remotely qualified to handle those instruments is Ray, and that is out of the question." Momentarily pushing aside his own anguish, Egon's eyes blazed with sudden, terrible anger. "A'nuit has the ability to kill. We didn't know that and it cost us Peter. We cannot go up against him again until we have some answers. The only way to protect ourselves--and others--is to take the proper readings at the autopsy and find out how he kills." He lifted his chin a little higher. "Peter would understand."

Zeddemore gave a snort of impatient disgust. "Of course he'd understand; that's not the point." Softening his tone, he began gently kneading the stiff shoulders under his hands. "The point is, it shouldn't be you, and Peter wouldn't want it to be you. If you go through with this it's gonna mess you up for the rest of your life, and that's the last thing he would want. You know that."

Egon felt a wave of nausea wash over him again as he thought about what he faced in the morning. A part of his mind argued that it couldn't possibly be worse than what he had faced just a few hours ago at the hospital. But another part of his mind knew it would be one more layer of torment added to a pain he already found unendurable.

"Let me do it," Winston insisted, tightening his fingers abruptly. "Show me how to use those instruments. I'm a quick study. Just show me what to do and--"

Egon shook his head, cutting Winston off. "Thank you," he said sincerely, deeply touched by the offer. He was honest enough with himself to admit he desperately wished he could accept it. "But I'm afraid it would take more than a crash course to be able to handle what will have to be done tomorrow."

Zeddemore's hands dropped from the physicist's shoulders and he took a step back, his face reflecting equal measures of incredulity and anger. "This is just plain wrong, Egon," he stated flatly. "Peter was your best friend. Are you telling me you can just stand there and watch while they cut him open like some--"

"That's enough!" Egon tried to recoil from the explicit images flooding his mind, tried to distance himself from them, but he couldn't. He drew himself up, concealing his shaking hands behind his back. "That is enough," he repeated in a voice he barely recognized as his own. "The decision has been made and this discussion is over."

"Egon--"

Spengler abruptly turned his back on the other man and busied himself at the lab table. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. There's much to be done before..." Before tomorrow morning. There was a long silence behind him, then a hand dropped briefly on his shoulder before falling away. Egon didn't breathe again until he heard the door close softly behind Winston as he left the room. With a shattered sigh, he sank down onto the nearest stool and stared blankly at the jumbled mess of tools in front of him.

*****

Winston stopped by the bedroom long enough to see that Ray had finished his shower and was lying on his bed, his back to the door. He took a step into the room, his initial intention to see if the occultist wanted to talk, then decided against it and withdrew. Ray wasn't any more ready to talk about what happened than the rest of them were. For now they each had enough to handle with the legacy of raw pain Peter's death had left them; later, when the worst of their grief had subsided into aching mourning, would be the time to talk. Zeddemore paused at the top of the stairs and gazed at the closed lab door, his face somber. He just hoped there were three Ghostbusters left to talk when it was all over because he didn't know how Egon was going to survive with his mind intact if he went through with his plans to attend Peter's autopsy.

Giving his head a sharp, frustrated shake, Winston continued down the stairs. Janine was waiting for him, her eyes red-rimmed and anxious. "Are they all right?"

Zeddemore hesitated an instant before answering. "Ray's lying down for a while and Egon's in his lab."

When the secretary's eyes immediately shot to the stairs and she took a step in that direction, Winston lightly caught her arm. "Not yet, Janine. Give them time."

Janine turned her gaze on Winston and he could almost feel her steeling herself for what she was about to ask. "Will you tell me what happened, Winston? I know what I saw on TV, but..." She waved a helpless hand at the silent television. "That can't be all of it. I want to know--I have a right to know, Peter was my friend, too--but I can't ask Egon or Ray."

Winston nodded and gently guided her over to her chair. "You do have a right to know and I'll tell you everything I saw and heard." As she sank down into her chair, her pale face full of frightened expectation, he settled one hip on the edge of her desk and said quietly, "I'll tell you what's going to happen tomorrow, because I think you have a right to know that, too. And because if he goes through with this, Egon is going to need all the help and support we can give him."

*****

Almost two hours later Winston was finally able persuade Janine to accept a ride home in the police cruiser still parked outside the firehall. She had listened to the story of Peter's death stoically, only the naked pain in her eyes warning Winston how close that carefully constructed control was to cracking. To an outsider Janine and Peter's constant verbal sparring might have given the appearance of two people who neither liked nor respected one another, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Janine was one of the few people Peter had allowed into his finely-defined and fiercely protected inner circle of friends. And Janine had trusted Peter enough to confide in him during troubled times in her personal life. When he had offered her an ear to listen and a shoulder to cry on, she had used both more than once. Peter had teased her unmercifully with the same gleeful enthusiasm an older brother would tease a kid sister, and she responded to the verbal battle of wits with a skill that at first had surprised, then challenged him.

When Winston had told her everything up to the ride back from the hospital, the tears shimmering in her eyes finally spilled over, trailing slowly down her cheeks. Looking around at the firehall, she whispered, "It won't be the same around here without Peter. I-I just can't imagine this place without him." She turned her gaze back on Winston. "It'll never be the same again without him. Nothing will. Not even Egon."

"Maybe especially Egon," he had murmured, and told her about the physicist's plans for the next morning. It had been hard at that point to restrain her from rushing upstairs to try to talk some sense into Spengler, but he finally convinced her nothing anyone said at this point would get through to him. All he could hope for was that after Egon had an entire night to confront the idea of what he planned to do, they could convince him there had to be another way to obtain the information they needed to fight A'nuit.

After Janine had gone he listened to the unnatural silence of the firehall. Slimer had been gone all day, probably out raiding garbage cans again; when he got on that kick he could be gone for days. Winston was just glad they didn't have to deal with the Spud's reactions when he heard about Peter; they all had enough to handle without Slimer's histrionics on top of it, but sooner or later they would have to face that too.

Dismissing that thought for later, he headed for the kitchen. His stomach rebelled at the thought of food and he was sure Ray and Egon's would, too, but he had to make the effort. Maybe they could at least manage some sandwiches. As soon as he pulled the refrigerator door open, he stopped, his eyes sweeping over the collection of low-fat, no-fat, cholesterol-free, tofu-infested foodstuffs lining the shelves: Peter had done the food shopping yesterday. For a man who kept junk food under the pillow of his bed in case of a midnight snack-attack, he was scrupulously health-conscious when it came to buying their groceries. For a moment a soft smile creased Winston's face as gentle memories wafted through his mind. Then reality crashed down and his smile vanished. With a sigh he pulled out a plate of ham, some fake mayonnaise, and set about making sandwiches.

The first challenge facing him was where to set up the meal; he didn't think any of them were ready to confront Peter's empty place at the table just yet. So he chose the TV room, but was careful to turn on the stereo so no one would unthinkingly switch on the television and encounter news reports of Peter's death.

He congratulated himself for having the good sense to go after Ray first. The occultist's initial response was as apathetic as Winston had expected, but a little talking on his part persuaded Ray he was the only one who could coax Egon out of his laboratory. As Winston suspected, when Ray urged Spengler to join them and try to eat something, Egon didn't hesitate. If Ray had asked him to walk downstairs on his hands, Spengler would have probably given it a shot.

None of them ate much, but at least they were together and talking, and that was a great deal better than all of them grieving alone in separate parts of the firehouse. After much deliberation Winston had chosen Simon & Garfunkel for the background music, remembering how Peter loved their songs and often played their albums when he was in a contemplative mood. The three of them ate and talked quietly while the duo's bittersweet tunes played softly in the background. Not surprisingly, it was Ray who first mentioned their lost partner.

"Remember that Simon & Garfunkel concert Peter took us to in college, Egon?"

A slow smile creased the physicist's face, momentarily easing the lines of sorrow there. "I remember it was an outdoor concert and it poured rain the entire time," he said wryly.

"Yeah, but we didn't mind," Ray remembered, his tone wistful. "Peter always said that was the best concert he ever went to."

"He caught a cold right after it," Egon recalled. "It got so bad we were afraid he had pneumonia."

"And he wouldn't go to a doctor so your mom came into town and gave him all those Spengler home remedies."

A chuckle escaped Spengler's lips at the memory. "For weeks after that he ran at the sight of a blender."

Ray laughed, too, but there was the shine of tears in his eyes. "Those were good times," he said, his voice catching.

From his position on the sofa beside Ray, Egon draped an arm across Stantz' shoulders. "We had many good times," he said softly, "for many years, and we have the memories of all those years. Peter will always be with us, Ray, because we will always remember him."

*****

And a rock feels no pain

And an island never cries

*****

Ray nodded, wiping his eyes with one hand. "I know. But I'm going to miss him so much."

The blond man nodded, too. "So will I," he agreed, his bass voice not quite steady.

Winston, who had been sitting apart from the other two on a chair, stood and walked over to join them, taking up a perch on the coffee table so he was facing them. "We're all gonna miss him." He smiled faintly. "I'm even gonna miss his singing in the shower."

That brought the scientists' heads up. First surprise, then approval and gratitude sparked in Egon's blue eyes. "And I shall miss the damp towels he left strung all over the floor after his shower."

"Aw, come on, guys," Ray started to object. "He didn't always..." Then a sadly affectionate smile touched his lips. "And I'll miss coming back late from a hard bust and finding my bed short-sheeted."

Spengler cocked his head, his eyes taking on a faraway look. "Having my socks full of slime because Peter told Slimer I had jellybeans there."

"Not having clean clothes to wear because he could never remember it was his turn to do laundry," Zeddemore mused.

Ray was silent for a moment before offering, "Grounds in the coffee?" It was a well-established fact that Peter was a more than competent cook, but he was renowned for making the worst coffee in the firehouse. The others looked at him, then all three began laughing, though it was the kind of laughter that bordered on tears. When it died down, Ray laid his head on Egon's shoulder, admitting softly, "I'm going to miss it all."

Spengler tightened his grip on the younger man to pull him a little closer.

*****

when darkness comes and pain is all around like a bridge over troubled water

I will lay me down

*****

His voice steady, but filled with emotion, Egon said quietly, "And I shall miss his generosity of spirit, his loyalty, his compassion, and the friendship and trust we shared." He let out a shaky sigh, his voice beginning to quaver. "I shall miss that most of all."

"And the way he could make us laugh," Ray added, his voice hoarse with tears. "He could always make us laugh, no matter how bad things were."

"And the way he could always get us to talk," Winston recalled. "Even when we didn't want to."

"Especially when we didn't want to," Egon amended.

Zeddemore nodded agreement, a fond smile of remembrance on his face. "He always knew when something was bugging one of us and he wouldn't let up until he got us to talk about it."

"He taught us a lot, didn't he?"

That quiet observation from Ray made the other two men look at each other, realization slowly flooding their eyes. "Yes, I suppose he did," Egon agreed, his lips quirking. "He would have loved to hear that."

"I wish we had told him," Stantz murmured.

Winston leaned forward and laid a hand on the occultist's arm. "I think we just did, homeboy," he said seriously.

Ray seemed to consider that for a moment, then nodded, closing his eyes with a broken sigh and burrowing his head a little deeper into the hollow of Egon's shoulder. "Maybe you're right, Winston. It still feels like Peter's around, doesn't it, Egon?"

The physicist nodded, his blue eyes both thoughtful and sad. "He will always be here, Ray. And he will always be with us, in our hearts, wherever we go."

*****

if you need a friend I'm sailing right behind like a bridge over troubled water

I will ease your mind

*****

It was nearly eleven before the music and the reminiscing gradually came to an end. When Winston quietly suggested they should try to get some sleep, leaving unspoken a reminder about the ordeal which faced them all tomorrow, Ray reluctantly roused and sat up, wiping at the dried tears on his cheeks. But Egon didn't move. Spending the last few hours with Ray and Winston reflecting on their lives with Peter made him realize how badly he had needed to talk about his friend. For the time they had joined together he had been able to draw some comfort from their shared memories. But he could feel an aching loneliness seeping into his soul and he knew sleep, or even rest, was an impossibility for him. Even if by some miracle he did sleep, he knew what he would dream about; at least awake he had some control over the thoughts and images in his mind.

"Are you coming, Egon?"

Spengler looked up at Ray's question, then shook his head. "I think I'll stay here a while longer."

Stantz looked like he wanted to say something, but instead sighed. "See you in the morning."

Winston lingered after Ray left the room, offering, "Would you like some company?"

The physicist raised his eyes to meet Zeddemore's compassionate gaze. "I think I'd rather be alone, Winston, but thank you."

The black man nodded his understanding, but dropped a hand on Egon's shoulder as he passed behind the sofa. "I don't think I'll be sleeping much tonight, so if you decide later you want to talk..." Zeddemore let the invitation dangle, and Spengler nodded his thanks. The warm weight disappeared from his shoulder and he heard Winston climb the stairs.

For a time there were some sounds from upstairs: Winston's inquiring voice, Ray's murmuring reply, too soft for Egon to make out the words, padded footsteps, then silence...all encompassing silence. Egon sat on the sofa in the dim light in the TV room, listening to the quiet surrounding him and trying to keep unwanted images at bay. Failing miserably, he shot to his feet, walked quickly into the kitchen where he dropped some ice cubes into a glass, then returned and poured himself a scotch from the small bar in the corner. He let the first swallow of the smoky-flavored liquid burn its way down his throat before he moved again, this time to the stereo. After carefully returning the Simon and Garfunkel disks to their cases, he placed one of his own favorite albums in the CD player, turned the volume down so as not to disturb Ray and Winston, and returned to the sofa.

As the haunting music swirled around him, he drank his scotch, called upon his memories of Peter, and didn't try to suppress the tears sliding down his cheeks. Peter Venkman had put a stamp on his life, had had a hand in forming his personality, and had contributed immeasurably to his happiness and contentment, just as surely as he had provided those same things to Peter. Their lives had been completely intertwined since they were young men at college, their respective paths through life shared from that moment on. Through good times and bad, flush and lean, life and death, Peter had been there by his side. It seemed impossible to believe he would no longer share that journey with his friend, would no longer have Peter's unquestioning support and unflagging humor to see him through whatever that journey brought.

At length, his drink finished, he set the empty glass aside and got stiffly to his feet, weary, but too restless to sit still. Walking aimlessly around the room, he let his gaze touch on the personal items filling the room. Their lives were completely integrated at the firehouse, yet they had each carved out personal space for themselves: Egon had his upstairs lab; Ray his workshop in the basement; Winston's chosen area more or less revolved around Ecto, his pride and joy; and Peter's private space was his office. But in the TV room it all came together. They gathered in the kitchen to eat, in the bedroom to sleep, and in the labs and library to work, but here they gathered to relax, to talk, to unwind after a hard bust, to celebrate birthdays and Christmas, or to share losses and pain.

Egon came to a stop by the bookcase along one wall and gazed at the books lining the shelves. They had a library in another part of the firehouse where he and Ray kept their research and reference materials, and Peter kept his professional journals in his office, but this bookcase held their personal libraries. It was crammed with Winston's mystery novels, Ray's science fiction books and Peter's Dewey LaMort westerns. Standing out among the paperbacks was a set of beautifully bound hardback books and Egon carefully pulled one from the shelf, running his fingers over the fine leather. He remembered how surprised he had been at Columbia to discover Peter was an avid Tolkien reader. (It turned out to be only one of many surprises he was to encounter as he and Peter continued to explore and define their burgeoning relationship.) At the time Venkman's Tolkien collection had been comprised of used paperbacks, dog-eared and tattered from use. On their first Christmas at Ghostbuster Central, Egon's present to him had been this beautiful hardcover set. Astonished and delighted, Peter had given the set a special place of honor on the bookshelf. With a sigh that bordered on a sob, Egon slid the book back into place, his fingers lingering on the spine before slipping away.

*****

As I walk the rooms

there before me a shadow

from another world,

where no other can follow.

*****

It would be a long time, Egon knew, before he would be able walk through any room in the firehall without seeing Peter's shadow in every corner. It would be an eternity before he ever stopped missing him.

*****

Forever searching; never right,

I am lost

in oceans of night.

Forever hoping I can find memories

those memories I left behind.

*****

There it was, the struggle Egon was facing: finding memories and holding onto them so tightly they would never slip from his grasp. Because more than anything, both for his sanity and out of respect for his friend, he knew he had to remember Peter as Peter had been and not as Egon would be forced to see him tomorrow. The thought that the images of Peter's autopsy would be the memories of his friend he would carry for the rest of his life brought fresh pain to the anguish already burdening his heart. He could not allow that to happen. He would not allow that to happen.

Standing by the bookcase, one hand gripping the edge of a shelf, Egon squeezed his eyes shut and called upon the lifetime of memories, the millions of images of Peter he had stored in his brain, and focussed on them. In moments he not only had Peter's image, but the sound of his voice as well. Egon drew a deep, unsteady breath and relaxed a little as those memories poured forth. The image of Peter was fixed in his mind and in his heart as sharply as if the psychologist were standing in front of him; he could hear his friend's voice in his ear as clearly as if Peter were relating his latest grievance with Slimer. The pain of such vibrant recollections was incredible, but there was comfort to be found there, too. He began to believe it would be impossible to lose those memories, impossible for him to think of Peter any other way but alive, happy with his chosen work, content with his life, and secure in the love of his friends. No matter what Egon saw tomorrow, he would always have his treasured memories. Nothing could interfere with that. Squaring his shoulders, he lifted his chin a little higher. He could do this. He could handle it.

With a sigh he opened his eyes, swaying slightly from the combination of alcohol on a near-empty stomach and the flood of sheer relief at his sudden conviction. With that certainty in mind, he was about to turn away and return to his lab to finish preparing for the morning when another book caught his eye. His hand was practically brushing it, and he froze in momentary hesitation before slowly sliding it out of its place. Causes of Death, a book Winston had picked up at one of the mystery bookstores he frequented. It outlined various methods writers used to instill death in their characters and contained a rather graphic forensic guide regarding investigation of the cause of death. He remembered vividly an animated discussion Zeddemore and Ray had over the breakfast table about one particular chapter until an irritated Peter put an end to it by threatening to throw the book into the containment unit.

It wasn't a very thick volume and it took him only a few moments to locate the chapter he was seeking: The Autopsy. His hands were trembling as he began turning the pages, forcing himself to scan the paragraphs for hints of what he might be facing. Years in the scientific world had given him a good idea, of course, but if he could get a more specific idea of what to expect, perhaps he could prepare himself for it in some way. If, indeed, there was truly any way to prepare for what duty demanded he do tomorrow. Then he turned an innocuous-looking page and came face-to-face with an illustration of an autopsied body. The book fell from his hands and he spun around, running for the kitchen. He barely made it to the sink in time.

When he finally stopped retching, he fumbled his glasses off and laid them aside, then spent a long time splashing cold water on his face until he finally felt recovered enough to straighten. Turning the water off, he gripped the edge of the sink to brace himself while the mixture of water and tears slid down his face. "I can't do it," he whispered brokenly. "I can't do it, I can't do it, I can't do it." But if he thought that admission would bring him peace, or absolution, he was wrong. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the weight of his responsibility came crashing down, and for the first time in his life he cursed his intelligence, knowledge, and skills, because it was those gifts which made him quite literally the only man in the world who could do it.

After a restless night with unpleasant dreams wrecking what little sleep he did get, Winston finally got up before dawn. He refrained from turning on a light so as not to disturb Ray, but the occultist was already awake and rolled over in his bed to stare through the darkness at Peter's empty bed.

"It all seems like a bad dream, doesn't it?"

Zeddemore sighed. "Yeah, it does. It doesn't seem any more real today than it did yesterday."

"But it is real. Peter's dead."

The flat, lifeless quality of Ray's voice prompted Winston to turn on his light so he could see Stantz' face. There was so much naked pain in the younger man's eyes Winston quickly tried to draw his attention outward rather than let him continue to focus inward. "Egon never made it to bed," he pointed out, indicating the physicist's untouched bed. "We'd better check on him."

Ray's head snapped up at that and when he, too, saw Spengler's bed, covers still in place, he pulled himself up, throwing his legs over the side of his bed. "He shouldn't have stayed up all night, not alone like that."

As the two of them headed for the door, Zeddemore observed, "I don't think he could have slept last night anyway, not with knowing what he has to go through today."

The auburn-haired man stopped short and looked at Winston. His face was startlingly pale, but there was a quiet determination in his brown eyes. "I'm not going to let him go through that alone, Winston. I don't think I can stay in there when they..." He faltered briefly, then continued, "But I'm not going to let him go through that by himself. I'm going with him."

Winston nodded solemnly. "Me, too, homeboy. Me, too."

Stantz offered a bleak little smile at that, and the two of them continued out of the bedroom. It didn't take them long to locate Spengler. Although the door to his lab was closed, a slim beam of light from underneath spilled out into the hallway. Ray knocked gently, then opened the door without waiting for a reply.

When Egon turned to face them Winston decided instantly he would rather face a class seven alone with one thrower than confront the kind of demons Spengler had apparently fought last night. The physicist's long face was haggard with exhaustion and grief, and there was a haunted look in his eyes that made Winston catch his breath.

"Egon." The shocked note in Ray's voice conveyed his concern, and he quickly crossed the room to lay a hand on Spengler's arm. "You should have tried to get some sleep last night," he chided gently.

The blond man gestured vaguely toward the pile of equipment on the lab table. "I needed to make some adjustments on the equipment."

Ray ran a quick eye over the various pieces. "Do you need some help?"

"No, I finished a couple of hours ago. I've just been...sitting here."

"Why don't you try to get some sleep now?" Stantz insisted, his voice kind and soothing. "It's still pretty early. It's hours yet before we have to leave."

"We?" Spengler's eyes sharpened at that. "You're not--"

"Yes, I am," Ray stated firmly.

"And so am I," Winston added levelly. "So why don't you do like Ray suggests and grab some shut-eye. We'll call you in plenty of time."

Egon barely heard him. Looking at Ray, there was something like panic in his eyes. "Ray, you shouldn't be there--"

"None of us should have to be there," Ray interrupted, his voice so soft it was barely audible. "But if one of us goes, we're all going." His fingers tightened around Spengler's arm. "Now please try to get some rest, Egon."

The physicist looked at him, the panic of a moment ago replaced by an expression of such hopelessness Winston had to avert his eyes. "Just for a little while," he agreed, his normally resonant voice weary and almost toneless. "We have to be at the hospital by nine."

Winston clapped him on the arm. "We'll be ready. You grab some sleep."

Spengler laid down the tiny screwdriver he had been fingering and quietly left the room. After he disappeared into the bedroom, Ray let out a shaky breath and swallowed hard. "I'll make some coffee," he said, and abruptly left the lab.

Winston paused only long enough to flick off the light, then he too left the lab, closing the door behind him. He heard Ray in the kitchen as he went downstairs and continued on to the office area. It had just occurred to him that they had all gone to bed last night with the ringer on the phone turned off. As he expected, the answering machine was blinking like mad, and he dropped down into Janine's chair, assigning himself the task of clearing the calls.

Twenty minutes later, he was tapping his pen against the desk top as he stared at the list of messages he'd transcribed. The majority were requests for statements or interviews from all manner of news media. A few were from people whose names Winston didn't recognize, but as they claimed to be calling from universities across the country or carried the title 'Doctor', Winston assumed they were colleagues or old friends of Peter's; he'd pass them on to Egon to be dealt with later. The calls that couldn't wait were in response to messages left by Egon's mother, Ray's Aunt Lois and Cousin Samantha, and his own parents.

He called his folks first and spent the first part of the conversation explaining to his worried father what exactly had happened, and then trying to calm his frantic mother, who had concluded after seeing the initial news reports that if the demon had killed Peter, there was nothing to stop it from killing Winston too if the Ghostbusters faced it again. When he finally hung up he felt drained.

After a brief debate with himself, he picked up his pad with the remaining messages and headed for the kitchen. There he found Ray staring at the Mr. Coffee as a stream of coffee trickled down into the glass coffee pot. "Ray?"

The engineer looked around and Zeddemore held up the message pad. "Your aunt and cousin called last night. They both sounded pretty upset."

Stantz' face fell. "Gosh, I never thought about calling them. I'd better do that right now." Turning away from the counter, he crossed the kitchen to the door.

As he moved past Winston, the black man added, "There was a message from Egon's mom, too."

Ray paused in the doorway, his face troubled. "I wish she hadn't heard about Peter like that," he said sadly. "She really liked him. And he thought she was terrific. I remember one time at Columbia..." He stopped suddenly. "I've gotta stop doing that."

"Doing what, Ray?" Winston asked, his tone understanding. "Remembering?"

The auburn-haired man nodded briefly, his eyes filling. "Hurts too much," he said, then turned away quickly, but Winston snagged his arm before he could make his escape.

"It would hurt a lot more," Zeddemore told him very gently, "if you didn't remember."

The younger man bit his lip, but nodded in slow agreement. "I know. But right now it hurts...all the time, all over." Raising his eyes, he gave Winston a heartbreakingly helpless look. "And I don't think it's even really sunk in yet."

Winston sighed heavily, privately acknowledging the same was true for him. He still expected to see Peter, rumpled from sleep, eyes half-closed, come shambling into the kitchen and mumble an incoherent plea for coffee.

"I'd better go call Aunt Lois and Sam," Ray said, breaking into Zeddemore's silent reverie. "Then I'll give Mrs. Spengler a call. I don't want to wake Egon up yet if he's asleep, but she's probably really worried about him."

"I can do it if you want," the other man offered, wondering if Ray was really up to handling all three phone calls. He knew how hard his own had been.

Ray gave him a frankly grateful look. "No, I'll do it. But thanks." With that, he disappeared through the doorway, leaving Winston to watch over the still-dripping coffee in its glass pot.

*****

If Egon had gotten any sleep at all in the few hours allotted him, it didn't show. Paused at a stop light, Winston glanced into the rear- view mirror of Ecto and took a moment to study both silent scientists in the back seat.

Those phone calls Ray had made back at the firehall seemed to have taken what little starch he had left out of him. Stantz had been gone so long Winston had gone to check on him and had unintentionally overheard part of his conversation with Mrs. Spengler before silently withdrawing to the kitchen. When Ray returned several minutes later, his eyes were red and puffy but he said nothing about his exchange with Egon's mother. Now he looked tired and defeated, his shoulders slumped, and his bloodshot eyes reflected a deep dread of what lay ahead.

In contrast, Egon's face was a mask of non-expression, his air one of total distraction. Or rather, Winston decided, total detachment. In view of what the physicist had laid out for himself in the way of duty, Winston didn't know how else Egon could cope with it other than trying to disassociate himself completely from his feelings for Peter. He felt a strange mixture of awed admiration and exasperated anger with the physicist. He knew he himself didn't have the guts to do what Egon was planning to do at the morgue; but he also felt Spengler had assumed a burden he wouldn't be able to bear, and he couldn't help believing there had to be some other way to obtain the information they needed to defeat A'nuit. The fallacy of that logic, of course, was that if there had been another way, Egon Spengler would have thought of it. As deeply grieved as he was, his remarkable, logical brain hadn't stopped functioning.

Putting those thoughts aside as not helpful to anyone, Winston returned his attention to navigating through the rush hour traffic. He didn't want to think about the next few hours any more than Ray and Egon did.

They arrived at the hospital in silence, and in silence made their way to the basement housing the morgue where Peter's body had rested overnight. The antiseptic smells were harsh enough to turn Winston's stomach, but Egon appeared not to notice them. His face was completely impassive, his eyes expressionless as they made their way down the brightly lit corridor. It was Egon who put his hand on the door knob of the door marked Morgue and, although there was no hesitation in his movements, Winston saw the betraying tremor travel through the physicist's lean form. "Please wait out here."

When Ray took a step forward, Winston snagged his arm and held him back. He had no illusions about Ray's emotional ability to handle what lay ahead, and knew any debate would only make it harder on Egon.

But before Spengler could open the door, Dr. Brand came striding quickly down the corridor. "Dr. Spengler, wait." Startled, the physicist's hand fell away from the door knob as if burned. Right behind Brand was an expensively dressed man with thinning straw-colored hair and an anxious look on his face. "We've been trying to reach you," Brand said, coming to a halt in front of them.

"Is there a problem, Doctor?" Egon asked in what was meant to be a professionally detached tone.

"I'm afraid there is." The physician nodded toward his companion. "This is Mark Weiderman, the Hospital Administrator."

Spengler's shoulders straightened and his voice took on a hard, determined tone. "If you've come to challenge my right to be here, Mr. Weiderman--"

"No, no, nothing of the sort," Weiderman assured him hastily. "We have orders from the mayor himself to cooperate with you gentlemen in every way possible."

"Then what's the problem?" Winston asked.

Weiderman looked nerously around at the people passing in the corridor. "Could we continue this conversation in my office, please?"

*****

"You what?" From across Weiderman's desk, Egon stared uncomprehendingly at the hospital administrator.

"You lost Peter's body?" It was the sound of Winston's voice, filled with sick disbelief, that cut through Egon's fog of incredulity and made his stomach clench with the awful realization.

"You don't just 'lose' a body, Mr. Weiderman." Egon could feel his fingernails biting into the wooden arms of his chair. He could also feel his composure slipping badly.

"A body just doesn't get up and walk away," Zeddemore said sharply, on the verge of shouting as his own self-control began to crumble. "Not unless--" As soon as the words left his mouth he looked like he wanted to bite off his tongue. He slid a quick, guilty look at Ray, who up to then had been sitting in shocked silence.

"Unless he's alive," Stantz breathed, hope sparking in his dulled eyes and giving his face life again. Eagerly he turned to Egon, desperate to receive confirmation from the physicist, but Spengler could only shake his head and grip Ray's arm, squeezing it tightly.

"Ray, no," he whispered hoarsely. "Don't."

"But he could be hurt or in shock and wandering around somewhere. That's why--"

"Dr. Stantz," Brand interrupted gently. "Dr. Venkman was dead on arrival at the hospital. I assure you that fact was confirmed."

Ray clenched his jaw stubbornly. "Then where is he?" he challenged. "Where's his body?"

Brand glanced at the hospital administrator, then confessed, "I'm afraid we don't know."

"This is monstrous." Egon's voice vibrated with anger. "I want an answer and I want it now. Where is Dr. Venkman's body?"

Weiderman took a deep breath and laid his hands on his desk before replying. "We have hospital security, of course, and I assure you, all due diligence was observed. But we are not in the habit of checking on the bodies during the night. There's no need. Dr. Venkman's body was tagged and placed into storage last night; when it was sent for this morning for preparation of the autopsy, it was simply not there."

"That is not an answer," Spengler said flatly.

"But I'm afraid it's the truth," Weiderman replied carefully. "We've notified the police and they're conducting an investigation. Until they come up with something..." He spread his hands apologetically. "I'm afraid all we can do is wait."

Winston, who had listened in silence as Weiderman told his story, asked quietly, "Has this ever happened before?"

The administrator cleared his throat. "Actually, yes, on two other occasions. Once, a few years ago, some college students stole a body as part of a fraternity initiation. It was returned the next day."

"And the other?" Zeddemore pressed when Weiderman didn't continue.

Weiderman frowned as if remembering something quite distasteful. "The other occasion happened last year. We managed to keep it out of the press--more for the family's protection than ours. Gentlemen, I can't impress upon you enough that what I'm about to tell you cannot leave this office."

Egon's lips thinned. "And I cannot impress upon you enough," he ground out, "that if you do not cooperate with us in every way to locate Dr. Venkman's body, the press will be the least of your worries."

The administrator's Adam's apple bobbed once, then he nodded. "Of course. From what the police were able to gather, there was some sort of Satanic cult operating in the city at the time. They were never able to apprehend anyone but they were able to recover the body after the cult discarded it." A delicate shiver passed through Weiderman. "There were certain...atrocities perpetrated on the corpse, presumably in some type of ritual."

Ray's breath caught in a sharp gasp and Egon had to swallow rapidly to force down the hot bile rising in his throat. Although most of their real enemies were in the containment unit, there were certain fringe groups involved in all manner of dangerous occult studies who considered them adversaries. It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility that one of those groups had decided to steal Peter's body and use it in some sick, twisted... "Oh, god," he whispered, his eyes sliding shut. Almost immediately he felt a strong, warm hand gripping his shoulder as Winston rose to stand behind him and Ray.

"What are the police doing?" Zeddemore demanded.

"Everything they can," Weiderman assured them sincerely. "I understand the mayor himself has chosen the people to head up the investigation. Believe me, gentlemen, everything possible is being done to recover your colleague's body."

"I don't think any of us are quite ready to leave this in someone else's hands," Winston said bluntly. "Egon, Ray. Let's go home. We've got work to do."

The ride back to the firehall was silent except for Ray's soft sobs. In the back of Ecto Egon held the younger man close, forcing his own grief back with only the greatest effort. But it was more than grief: it was anger and fear and a terrible despair. Deep, unrelenting anger at whoever had stolen Peter's corpse; desperate fear for what the thieves might do to their friend's body; and despair that they would never have the chance to lay him to rest. They hadn't been able to save him from A'nuit; they should have at least been able to put him to rest with all the dignity, care, and love their friendship warranted. Now they were going to be denied even that.

He had toyed briefly with the idea of offering a reward for the return of Peter's body, but had rejected it almost immediately. That would have guaranteed an even more escalated media circus, complete with lurid tabloid headlines, sightings of Peter ... la Elvis, false leads, and bodies of every John Doe in the country being offered for the reward. No, he wouldn't do that to Peter's memory. Nor would they trust that the police were doing everything possible. Egon had dismissed the possibility of a prank at the outset. Even a fraternity prankster far below Peter's caliber would have realized the type of furor that would erupt over the snatching of a body as famous as Peter Venkman's and would have known every cop in New York City--plus the remaining Ghostbusters--would be looking for him. No, Peter's body was taken by someone, or several someones, who had no intention of returning it. Since there was no moral purpose behind stealing a body, the logical conclusion was that the purpose was heinous. Since it was a Ghostbuster's corpse which had been stolen, Egon took that logic one step further to the subsequent conclusion the theft had some connection to the supernatural. Since the supernatural was the realm in which the Ghostbusters worked, they were best equipped to conduct a successful investigation. Looking down at Ray's tear-stained face, Egon drew in a deep, broken sigh. They certainly had the most incentive.

*****

Janine was waiting for them when they arrived back at Central. She rushed over to the physicist as soon as he stepped out of the car, her eyes searching his face. "Egon, are you okay?"

Realizing she was referring to the autopsy, he took her hands in his and squeezed them gently. "They didn't do the autopsy, Janine."

Relief flooded her features. "Oh, I'm so glad. I was so worried about you--"

"Janine, please." When she stopped, he took a deep breath. "They didn't do the autopsy because some time between last night and this morning Peter's body was stolen from the hospital."

The secretary's face went dead white. "Stolen? But who would--"

"We don't know," Winston said grimly as he passed. "But we're sure gonna find out."

Ray, who had regained his composure shortly before they arrived at the firehall, said quietly, "I'll start calling some of my contacts and getting my notes together," and disappeared in the direction of the library.

"And I'll pull our old files and start going through them," Zeddemore added, heading for the cabinets next to Janine's desk.

Spengler looked down at Janine's shocked face. "We believe whoever took Peter's body may somehow be connected either with some cult or the supernatural. The police are investigating at the hospital but we are going to see if we might be able to come up with anything."

The redhead, though badly shaken, nodded immediately. "I'll help. We'll find those creeps, and when we do..." She left the threat hanging, but from the fierce look on her face there was little doubt what she had in mind for the body snatchers was a good deal less pleasant than anything the Ghostbusters could ever imagine.

Egon watched as Janine and Winston began to pull out files, then blurted, "I'll join you in a moment." Ascending the stairs at a run, he didn't stop until he was inside his lab with the door shut behind him. He leaned back against the door for a long moment, tears burning his eyes, before he stumbled over to a stool and sank down at the lab table. Dropping his forearms on the table, he curled the fingers of one hand around the nearest object, an empty test tube, and braced himself against the tremors that racked his body as the long-denied reaction finally set in. It had all been too much: First the indescribable pain of Peter's loss, then the night spent grieving and agonizing over what he thought he faced this morning, and finally the shock of discovering Peter's body had been stolen from them.

Some still-functioning part of his brain woke up the instant before the glass tube would have shattered in his clenched hand and he threw it to the floor rather than simply relax his fingers. For a moment he stared at the tiny fragments of broken glass, then without thinking, picked up another empty test tube and threw that to the floor as well, feeling some grim satisfaction at the sound it made and the way the shattered pieces scattered on the wooden floor. Another tube followed. Then another. And another. He wasn't even aware of the tears streaking down his face as he methodically emptied the table of the carton of glass tubes that had just been delivered the other day.

When the last one hit the floor, he sagged as if suddenly drained of every ounce of energy in his body. He stared at the mess of fragmented glass glittering on the floor, then smiled shakily as he removed his glasses and wiped at the wet tracks on his face. "Oh, Peter," he murmured, "it's an expensive way to release anger, but now I understand perfectly why you were so fond of this method."

Replacing his glasses on his nose, Egon carefully made his way around the worst of the broken glass and retrieved a broom and dust pan to clean up the debris.

*****

It was in the ambulance that Peter Venkman discovered he wasn't dead.

It didn't come to him in any sudden revelation; rather it was like a slow awakening, a gradual perception of awareness. His last memories were of being in Central Park with his team mates fighting A'nuit, then it was as if he had been swallowed up in some great void of nothingness. In the instant the demon raised its hand and pointed at him, he remembered thinking, This is it. Somehow he had known death was coming for him and this time there would be no escape, but he didn't have time for regrets. In the time it would have taken for his heart to skip from one beat to the next, it was over.

But he could hear sounds--sirens overhead, the static-ridden chatter of a two-way radio, unfamiliar voices nearby. And he could feel things: the sway of a vehicle dodging around slower traffic, air being forced into his lungs, his chest being methodically compressed. It took him only an instant to realize he must be in an ambulance and someone was performing CPR on him, trying to revive him. But I'm revived, right? Or at least I'm aware, so I must be alive. How could I be alive and aware if my heart isn't beating or I'm not breathing? He tried to open his eyes or raise a hand to get someone's attention, but his body refused to obey his commands. He couldn't even make a sound.

"What've you got, Bill?"

"Nothing. No pressure, no pulse." There was a pause. "What do we do?"

"Keep at it. Our ETA's two minutes. We'll let a doctor make the call." There was a heavy sigh. "Damn. I sure hate losing a Ghostbuster on my shift. My kid thinks these guys are bigger heroes than Batman and Superman rolled into one."

Wait a minute, what do you mean you hate losing a Ghostbuster? You haven't lost me! I'm still here! Hey, can't anyone hear me? Can't you guys see I'm alive!?

His screams echoed only in his own mind and a horrifying thought followed: What if I really am dead and this is what 'life' after death is like? He had faced death on any number of occasions in his line of work but had steadfastly avoided thinking about what might be waiting for him on the Other Side, if indeed anything was. Ray and Winston often got into those types of discussions, both of them showing a healthy curiosity for what might be waiting there. Sometimes even Egon joined in, adding his more scientific views, but Peter usually made himself scarce during those times. He really didn't want to dwell on what might--or might not--be there. But what if this was it? What if his consciousness simply lived on, trapped in the shell of his dead body? Venkman pushed that thought aside, desperately trying not to panic.

Calming himself with an effort, he concentrated on the sounds and sensations around him, realizing the ambulance was slowing and the siren had stopped. We must be at the hospital. Okay, once they got him hooked up to some machines they'd soon see he wasn't dead. Maybe his body was in such deep shock from whatever A'nuit did to him that the paramedics couldn't quite pick up his readings, but the doctors certainly could. And the guys wouldn't just give up on him either. He knew they had to be right behind the ambulance. Once he got into the hospital everything would be fine. The doctors--with Egon leading the way if necessary--would find a way to counteract whatever that demon did to him, and he'd be fine.

*****

"Time of death, 4:08. Does he have family here?"

Time of death? Time of death? Are you nuts, Doc? I'm still alive!

"The other Ghostbusters are waiting outside, Doctor. Nurse Joyner put them in the private waiting room just down the hall."

"All right, I'll talk to them. As soon as word gets out about what happened, we're going to have the press all over the hospital."

"Word is, the press is already here. Security's going crazy trying to keep them rounded up."

"I was afraid of that. Have an orderly move the body to a private room if we have one available. The Ghostbusters have done their share for the people of New York; the least we can do is give them some privacy."

"I'll see to it, Doctor."

There was a rustling noise, then quiet footsteps, then silence. No! No, don't leave me here alone! I'm not dead! Come back! Come back!

*****

This is a nightmare. That's what it is, a nightmare. This can't be real. He was sure he was going to wake up any second safe and sound in his own bed at the firehall. But if it was just a dream, how to explain the sounds and smells surrounding him? (And how was he smelling anything if he wasn't breathing?) Hysteria tickled at the edge of his consciousness and he fought like a madman to keep it at bay. He wanted to scream. He strained to scream until it felt like his heart would burst with the effort, but no part of his body would respond. Forced to lay like a mannikin, he felt strange hands move him, then finish stripping off his uniform and boots and even force a comb through his tangled hair while unfamiliar voices murmured things about his tragic death.

But I'm not dead! I'm not dead-I'm not dead-I'm not dead-I'm not dead. After a while he wasn't sure whether he kept repeating the litany in his head in an attempt to get through to others or to convince himself he really was alive. I am alive, he insisted, feeling the first thread of paralyzing doubt creep into his mind. I have to be alive. This can't be death. I'll go mad if this is death.

"Peter."

Peter's consciousness quivered as if an electric shock had passed through his system. Ray! Venkman felt a surge of hope. I knew you guys would come! If anybody can figure this out, you can, you boy genius. Between you and Egon--

Peter felt his hand being gently pulled out from under the covers and pressed between Ray's. "I'm sorry, Peter." The engineer's voice broke and he pressed Peter's hand tightly to his chest. "It happened so fast. We didn't know--we couldn't--"

No, Ray, don't cry. Please don't-- I'm alive. Listen to me, look at me--I'm alive in here. You just have to figure a way to get me out.

Stantz was oblivious to his pleas. The sound of Ray's wracking sobs filled Peter's ears and made him fight with renewed intensity to break out of his prison.

With heartbreaking tenderness the younger man whispered, "I'll see you on the Other Side, Dr. Venkman. We love you." Carefully, his hand was replaced on the covers and gently squeezed.

No, Ray, don't go! Don't--

Another, different hand covered his then, and he recognized Winston's touch even before Zeddemore spoke. He did everything he could, strained himself to the limit, but he couldn't communicate with Winston any more than he had been able communicate with Ray. He could only lie there and listen with growing alarm to the sounds of grief emanating from his friends.

"Rest well, Peter. You've earned it."

Not you too, Winston. Please don't give up on me. If his friends didn't believe there was a chance he was alive, they wouldn't be looking for a way to save him.

He heard Winston's footsteps as they faded and he was again left in silence. As despair began to pull him closer to hysteria, he drew on all his will to focus on one thought: Egon? Egon, are you here? You've gotta be here, big guy. Please be here. His answer was the sound of harsh, ragged sobbing and he felt his heart swell with anguish in response. He wanted to jump up and grab Egon by the shoulders and scream that he was alive, damn it, but all the screaming was done inside his own mind. Egon's sobs grew more intense as if unimaginable despair, anger and sorrow had all suddenly coalesced and his suffering had become unbearable. It was unbearable for Peter as well. To be a helpless witness to the depth of Egon's grief and know he was powerless to comfort his friend with the truth was a torment like he had never felt before.

"Oh, my old friend, you have no idea how much you have enriched my life, or how very much I shall miss you." A strong, warm hand covered his while slender fingers threaded through his hair, allowing the stubborn curl in front to spring free and fall over his forehead. He heard the sound of a broken sigh, then felt a gentle, feathery sensation trail down the side of his face. "Know that I love you, Peter. Wherever you are, carry that with you."

The depth of feeling revealed in that grief-roughened voice nearly sent Peter over the edge as he tottered on the brink of hysteria. The knowledge of Egon's love for him was something he had always carried with him, was the one thing he could depend on in a sometimes deceitful and always changing world. It was something he had relied on, protected, and cherished for many years. And now he was in danger of losing it, not in any way he could have ever anticipated, but because he and Egon were separated by a barrier neither could breach. Egon was going to leave and take that deep affection and support with him, not because he no longer loved his friend, but because he believed Peter no longer needed it. Deep inside himself, Peter could feel rising sobs as a terrible sense of aloneness engulfed him. He needed that very special and unstinting support Egon had always given, now more than ever. Don't say goodbye, Egon. Please don't say goodbye. I'm not dead. It wasn't a shout of defiance any longer; it was a whimper of despair. Don't leave me here alone. Oh, god, Egon, please don't leave me here alone.

His hand was tucked back under the blanket and he could feel Egon's gentle touch as the physicist carefully smoothed the blanket over his chest. There was a long silence then and Peter was left to imagine the thoughts in Egon's mind as Spengler stood looking down on what he believed to be Peter's corpse.

Then, in a voice almost too soft for him to hear, but filled with unshakable determination, Egon said, "You have my word."

A sudden chill seized Venkman at both the words and the tone. Egon, what kind of promise did you just make? Don't you dare do something stupid, you hear me? You stay the hell away from that demon and you keep Ray away too--

"It's been an honor working with you, Dr. Venkman." Peter felt the pressure of cool lips against his forehead in an intimate but unmistakable gesture of affection and final farewell. Then Egon was gone.

Alone, and deep inside himself where no instruments would ever be able to record it, Peter Venkman wept.

*****

"Well, well, well, don't you think it's time we do something about this charade, Dr. Venkman? After all, we both know you're not really dead."

Peter's consciousness jerked awake. After Egon had left, he had given himself over to the deepest despair he had ever known. Crawling into a tiny corner of his mind he had curled up and shut out everything, forcing himself into a state of near-catatonia. But the sound of a voice, insinuating itself into his mind, brought him abruptly awake.

"That's right, Dr. Venkman, I know you're not really dead even if no one else does. What a touching little scene that was with your friends," the vaguely familiar voice continued in a mocking tone. "They seemed rather broken up over your apparent demise, didn't they? But it's time to put a stop to all this now. If I let you stay any longer in this refrigerated room, you really will die, and that wouldn't suit my purposes at all. Not to mention if you're still around in the morning, the good physicians of this establishment plan to do an autopsy on your apparently deceased body."

Autopsy? Holy shit--

"So come along, Doctor. We're going some place where I can restore you to your former self." There was a pause, then a soft chuckle. "I don't think you're going to find your new surroundings much of an improvement, but you really don't have anything to say in the matter."

Venkman tried to remember why the faintly-accented voice sounded familiar and struggled to make some sense out of what the man was saying. Anger roiled inside him, shoving aside his earlier despair, and again he fought his paralyzing prison; and again he failed. As he lay there helpless he felt his cold surroundings give way to a warmer environment. Before he could adjust to the change, there was a flash of unbearably hot air that seemed to sear his lungs before it gave way to an atmosphere so cool and unpleasantly damp he shivered inside.

"We're home, Dr. Venkman. At least where you're going to be calling home for some time. I would imagine you have quite a few questions, like how I managed to do all this and perhaps why I did it? The 'how' is really quite fascinating in itself. Do you know there are some voodoo houngans--that's a vodun priest in case you're unfamiliar with the word--"

I know what a houngan is, you bastard, and you'd better have one that can make you disappear because when I get out of this there's no dimension anywhere you're gonna be able to hide.

"--who can actually place a man in a sort of 'stasis' with certain applications of drugs. Even to a trained physician the man would appear dead. In fact, they can even bury him, then dig him up days later and revive him, and he'll be as good as new. I've actually seen it happen. Quite extraordinary." The accented voice softened. "I don't need drugs. I've got something even better. But we'll have quite a lot of time to discuss all that; after all, you won't be going anywhere. It's an entertaining story and one that should hold you, ah, shall we say, spellbound." His captor chuckled as if he had just made some very funny joke. "Now, are you ready to get a look at your new surroundings?"

All I want right now, you sonofabitch, is to get my hands around your neck.

"Before I release you let me warn you, Doctor, don't be so foolish as to try anything. The results will be quite unpleasant."

Not as unpleasant as what I'm going to do to you, Neeson. The memory finally clicked and Peter recognized the voice of Geoffrey Neeson, a practitioner of magick with a very unsavory reputation. Egon and Ray had had a few run-ins with him through the years regarding various occult books and accouterments, sometimes discrediting his 'authentication' of supposedly rare books on the supernatural. But more often they were forced to use what little cash flow or personal resources the Ghostbusters could come up with on short notice to purchase dangerous books he would put on the market to the highest bidder, or outbid him at auctions to keep such books out of his hands. Egon had nothing but contempt for Neeson, branding him a mercenary, but he and Ray both knew the Engligh occultist was one of the foremost authorities on the supernatural and had more than enough knowledge and skill to be exceedingly dangerous.

About a year ago they crossed paths with Neeson again when he had come into possession of a very powerful spellbook, that of the legendary wizard Michael Scot. Peter had been under a spell from that book which had been inadvertently cast by some clumsy novices. Egon, Ray, and Winston had returned the spellbook to Scot and the wizard had taken it to whatever dimension he now called home, but in return he had given them the counterspell to release Peter. Although Scot would have surely snuffed out Neeson like the flame of a candle if he had tried to retain possession of the book, the British occultist had been furious it had been taken from him. It may very well have been one of the most--if not the most--powerful book of magick in the world, and he blamed the Ghostbusters for his loss.

So that's what this is all about. The memory of his friends' anguish in the hospital room came back to him in a rush and the sounds of Ray's broken sobs and Egon's tender farewell filled Peter's ears. Cold rage rose in him until he thought he would explode. Neeson, you're a dead man.

"You should feel a slight tingling sensation and then..."

The same type of electric jolt he had experienced in Central Park zipped through him and Peter gasped as his body spasmed and he felt his heart lurch. Seconds later his eyes were open and he was panting heavily as air rushed into his lungs and his heart pounded in his ears. He seemed to be lying on a mattress on the floor but his surroundings were too dim and shrouded in fog for him to make out more than vague shapes or determine more than he seemed to be in some sort of cave-like room. It registered briefly that he was clad only in his jeans, tee shirt and socks, but he wasted no energy wondering about that nor did he give his body time to recover from its physical trauma; the only thought in his mind was to get his hands on Geoffrey Neeson and squeeze the life out of him. Struggling from his prone position, he stumbled to his feet but took only two steps before sprawling on the cold floor as dizziness overcame him. Through the roaring in his ears he could hear Neeson's mocking laughter.

"Did I forget to mention you might experience a temporary loss of equilibrium and some initial weakness? A side effect of coming out of your state of stasis combined with the little journey we just made."

Drawing in deep breaths of the stale, damp air, Peter was able to fight off his lightheadedness and focus his eyes on the dapper form of Geoffrey Neeson standing just outside the opening of the room he was in. With a vicious curse Peter clambered to his feet and lurched toward the British occultist. He reached only the doorway of the room, however, before blinding sparks of light exploded around him and he was enveloped in pain so all-encompassing it seemed to scramble every molecule in his body. For long seconds he was frozen in the archway like a fly trapped in a spider's web, then suddenly a burst of energy flung him back into the room and he collapsed on the floor, unable to move, his limbs twitching feebly. Wave after wave of residual pain flowed through his body, leaving him too weak to do anything but lie there with his jaw clamped against the moans escaping his throat and squeeze his eyes shut as tears leaked from under his lids. It seemed to take forever before the last of the agony finally dissipated and his body stopped quivering. Even then the shock of the assault left him too spent to do more than lie in a heap and stare dazedly at Neeson, who seemed to be enjoying the show immensely.

The occultist wagged a finger at Venkman. "Tsk, tsk. Didn't I tell you something unpleasant would happen if you tried anything stupid? I suppose some people simply have to learn from their mistakes." He took a step closer and peered down at Peter. "Nasty, wasn't it?" he asked conversationally. "I shouldn't want to do that too many more times if I were you. I'm afraid it all rather builds up in your system and the effects last longer each time until it reaches the point where--" He shrugged. "Well, I'm sure you get the idea. I don't think you're the sort of chap who wants to spend the rest of his life as a turnip."

Venkman's only response was a glare of hatred. He didn't trust Neeson to tell him the truth about anything, but he didn't need the occultist to warn him about trying to penetrate that energy field again.

Neeson tilted his head and regarded him. "You're awfully quiet, Doctor, for someone who has the reputation of being quite loquacious. Not sufficiently recovered yet to ask the many questions I'm sure you're harboring?"

It took Peter another few moments to make sure his voice was functioning properly before he croaked, "Where am I?"

The Englishman smiled beatifically. "Why, you're the houseguest of a very good friend of mine. I believe you've already met--A'nuit the demon."

Venkman's breath caught painfully in his chest and a terrible chill seized him as he realized he was in the Netherworld, the captive of a demon who would like nothing better than rip his soul to shreds. Steadying his voice with an effort, he said scornfully, "You're a bigger fool than I thought, Neeson, if you think you can make a deal with a demon and come out of it alive."

Neeson's eyes glinted in the dimness. "Well, that's my worry, isn't it? I'd say you have more than enough worries of your own to think about right now."

Gritting his teeth as he struggled with limbs still reluctant to obey his commands, Peter pulled himself up into a sitting position and glared defiantly at the Englishman. "Why?" he ground out. "What the hell is this all about?"

"You should know why, Venkman. You and the other Ghostbusters cheated me out of a book that could have made me the most powerful man in the world."

"That book wasn't yours to keep."

"That's a rather moot point, isn't it? The book is gone now. But I've found others to take its place, not as powerful certainly; but in my travels I've found books most experts in the supernatural--including Spengler and Stantz--thought lost forever. I possess them now and I possess the knowledge in them. Knowledge that allows me to do--" he waved his arms to indicate his surroundings--"all this."

"I'm sooo impressed," Venkman retorted sarcastically. "Like you said, voodoo priests have been doing that little trick of yours for a couple dozen generations now. And as for 'all this'..." He snorted. "Been here, done this. You're not showing me anything I haven't seen before, ace."

"I'm quite aware of your visits to the Netherworld in the past. But this time there's a difference, you see." Neeson's eyes narrowed unpleasantly. "This time you won't be leaving."

"You seem to be forgetting one teeny little detail, Neeson," Peter drawled, gaining confidence as his strength began returning. "There's a little matter of Egon, Ray and Winston. They'll find a way here and they'll get me out." He eyed the occultist with malicious glee. "And I wouldn't want to be in your shoes when they show up here with fully charged proton packs. Egon's usually a pretty reasonable guy, but he's not too crazy about you to begin with, and I think this time you've really pissed him off."

Neeson had listened to Peter's speech with growing amusement. "I think you're the one who's forgotten one 'teeny little detail', Venkman." Leaning closer, he whispered very slowly and very clearly, "They think you're dead."

Peter felt like a chunk of ice had just been dropped into his stomach. They think I'm dead. My god, that's right. They don't know...

"Did that little item slip your mind?" the Englishman asked in mock sympathy. "Perhaps you still harbor some thread of hope that they'll discover the truth of your situation? I think I can take care of that soon enough if you can manage to drag yourself a little closer to the doorway--mind you don't get too close, though. We wouldn't want a repeat of what happened earlier."

His chest heaving with a combination of effort and fury, Peter managed to pull himself to his still-wobbly legs and walk the few steps over to the doorway, careful not to get close enough that he would topple into it if he stumbled.

His back to the psychologist, Neeson waved at what looked like a large, round mirror set in the stone wall opposite Peter's prison. "You know, A'nuit is really a very clever fellow and quite inventive. He likes to look in now and then to see what's going on in other dimensions and uses this portal to keep track of events in our world." The occultist glanced over his shoulder. "That's why your accommodations are here instead of some of his more unpleasant quarters; we wanted you to be able to share the experience. Let's check in on your Ghostbuster friends, shall we, and see how they're faring. You should find it most amusing. I know I do."

Peter stared at the portal, part of him desperately hoping to get a glimpse of his team mates while at the same time dreading what he would see. His breath caught sharply as an image crystallized in the mirror and he saw his three friends gathered in the familiar surroundings of the TV room at the firehall. Egon was sitting on the sofa with his arm around Ray's shoulders and the engineer's head was on Spengler's shoulder, his eyes red with evidence of recent tears. In the background Peter could hear the bittersweet strains of a Simon & Garfunkel song.

And I shall miss his generosity of spirit, his loyalty, his compassion, and the friendship and trust we shared. Egon's chest rose and fell with a shaky sigh and there was a betraying quiver in his voice as he added softly, I shall miss that most of all.

The undercurrent of aching loss in Egon's deep voice made Peter's stomach clench in empathy. So real was the scene in front of him, so bare were his own emotions, that it was only at the last second he remembered to stop himself before he stepped into the doorway as he automatically moved toward his friends.

And the way he could make us laugh. Ray's voice was raw with grief and the depth of pain in his eyes was heartbreaking. He could always make us laugh, no matter how bad things were.

"Somebody had to do it," Peter whispered, his hands clenched so tightly his fingernails were biting into his palms. "You aren't so bad, but Egon takes everything entirely too seriously."

And the way he could always get us to talk. Winston was sitting on the coffee table facing the two scientists. Peter couldn't see his face, but the tone of his voice was one of fond remembrance. Even when we didn't want to.

"Especially when you didn't want to," Peter murmured, biting his lip when he realized he and Egon made it a duet. He tried to look away from the tableau playing out in front of him but as painful as it was to watch, he found he couldn't tear his eyes away, couldn't turn away from his friends.

Zeddemore's head bobbed in agreement. He always knew when something was bugging one of us and he wouldn't let up until he got us to talk about it.

He taught us a lot, didn't he?

Venkman's eyes slid shut. "Not as much as you guys taught me."

Yes, I suppose he did. That was Egon and when Peter opened his eyes he saw there was something like fond pride lighting the physicist's sorrow-dulled eyes. He would have loved to hear that.

Ray stirred against Spengler's shoulder, his tone wistful. I wish we had told him.

Winston leaned forward then, laying a hand on the engineer's arm and said seriously, I think we just did, homeboy.

Maybe you're right, Winston. Ray sighed brokenly and burrowed his head a little deeper into the hollow of Egon's shoulder as if seeking reassurance there. It still feels like Peter's around, doesn't it, Egon?

The physicist nodded, but Peter could see the glint of unshed tears in his eyes. He will always be here, Ray. And he will always be with us, in our hearts, wherever we go.

Neeson turned away from the portal and it went blank. The Englishman was smiling as if he had just been royally entertained. "There, wasn't that fun? As you can see, Venkman, your friends won't be forming any search parties to find you. They think you're quite dead. I do believe that was something of a wake we just witnessed."

Peter's hands were shaking badly and he knew it wasn't from the after-effects of his encounter with the energy field. Abruptly he turned away so Neeson wouldn't see his face and took a few steps away. Tears burned the back of his throat as he struggled to contain his emotions.

"Nothing to say, Dr. Venkman? No professional observations about that touching little scene?"

The psychologist had to remind himself quite forcefully about the energy field separating him from Neeson. He couldn't free himself and get back to his friends--and kill Neeson with his bare hands--if he fried himself in the process. With a massive effort he managed to fight the rage that had built up inside him back down to a manageable level. When he thought he finally had control of himself he turned back. "Why?" he demanded, his voice shaking despite his best efforts. "Why like this? If you wanted us, why didn't you just come after us? Why this?"

"Why, indeed," Neeson murmured. "Isn't this much more interesting than, say, proton rifles at twenty paces? You of all people should appreciate the psychological aspects of this little ruse. And how many men have the opportunity to witness the grief of those left behind after their 'death'? Besides," the English occultist continued, strolling back and forth on the other side of the doorway, "four Ghostbusters present a force to be reckoned with. Three Ghostbusters--in mourning for their lost comrade, distracted by grief, their forces reduced by one--should be a much easier nut to crack." A slow smile creased his thin face. "As for why you, Venkman, my own choice was Spengler, but I'm afraid A'nuit insisted on you. I don't know what you did to annoy him so, but he was quite adamant that you be the one brought here. He'll deal with the others in good time, but I think he plans to keep you for last. I wouldn't regard that as much of an honor, though, considering what he has in mind for you. If I were you, I don't believe I'd think about it at all. Of course..." Neeson slowed to a stop and crossed his arms, pretending to consider the psychologist. "It would give you something to think about," he continued pensively. "After all, you're going to be here for a very long time." He smiled brightly. "Although you'll find that time in this dimension has very little meaning. Sometimes days can go by in the wink of an eye, and at other times a minute can last an eternity. Or what can seem an eternity." His voice softened. "And eternity can last a very long time, Dr. Venkman."

Peter had let Neeson talk, hoping to glean some useful information from the man's gloating, but when it became obvious the Englishman was far too wily to let anything helpful slip, he demanded bluntly, "Where's A'nuit?"

"Oh, I wouldn't be in too much of a hurry to see him if I were you. He's attending to other business at the moment, but he hasn't forgotten you by any means. Why don't you make yourself at home; after all, this is going to be your home from now on. You'll be able to amuse yourself by looking in on your friends from time to time. The next few days might be rather tedious with all their lamenting and so forth, but it should liven up a bit when A'nuit pays them his next visit."

Venkman's mouth had gone dry as he listened to Neeson, but when he finally spoke, his voice was as deadly as his intent. "I'm going to kill you, Neeson. Understand that. I'm going to kill you."

The occultist walked so close Peter could have reached out and grabbed him by the throat if not for the energy field separating them. "That might prove a bit difficult under the circumstances," Neeson observed dryly. "But if it makes you feel any better you're welcome to think about it all you like." With a soft laugh, he turned and strolled away, disappearing around a sharp corner. Peter could still hear the sound of his mocking laughter long after his footsteps faded in the distance.

Peter stood rooted to the spot, unable to think, move, or do much of anything until finally the full weight of his despair crashed down on him. "Oh god," he whispered and stumbled over to the mattress on unsteady legs. Sinking down, he drew up his knees and dropped his head, taking several deep breaths of the cool air in an effort to steady his quivering nerves.

His thoughts flew back to the time Egon had been transported accidentally to the Netherworld by Ray's molecular amplifier. He, Ray and Winston had journeyed there to bring him back. Ray had fashioned electronic bracelets for them to wear to make sure they were returned to their own dimension. But Peter could take no comfort in that memory other than in the fact they had gotten Egon back safe and sound; it was true the Ghostbusters had the means to travel to the Netherworld and return home again, but his friends didn't know he was alive, so this time there would be no rescue. He was alone and would be alone forever. An eternity. He felt a shiver run through his body and knew it wasn't due merely to the cold. He was terrified, more terrified than he had ever been in his life. Had Egon been this afraid when he'd been a captive of Tolay? Concentrating, he cast his mind back to when he saw his friend in Tolay's prison, remembering the expression of discouragement on Egon's face as he sat huddled in his cell and then the look of pure joy when he'd seen the other Ghostbusters. Venkman's shoulders slumped. Egon had been despondent about his situation, but he had told them all later he had never lost hope; he knew his friends wouldn't give up on him. Lifting his head, Peter looked around at his dim, unpleasant surroundings. He had no such hope to cling to.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out his own fears and concentrate on his friends. They were in danger, too, and what was worse, they didn't realize it. Tears leaked out from under his tightly shut lids as he remembered their farewells at the hospital. Ray would be lost, unable to find solace in anything, even the work he so loved. Winston would do his best to hold everyone together, but losing a comrade on the field of battle would undoubtedly call up other unpleasant memories he would have to deal with. And Egon...Egon would do what he could to comfort Ray, but in the end he would withdraw into himself, retiring to his lab to try to lose himself in his work. Peter had no doubt that in time his friends would work through their grief and go on with their lives as all healthy, adjusted people do. But in their immediate distress they were vulnerable, and A'nuit would use that vulnerability. He would attack when they were defenseless, when their minds were distracted by grief, when the team was in chaos. He was going to kill them and Peter was helpless to warn them.

As he agonized over his friends' fate, he could hear sounds in the distance: moans, screams, shrieks of terror. Oh god, what else is out there? The Netherworld was filled with all manner of nasty, evil things and Peter didn't even want to think about what A'nuit might be keeping around in the way of pets. Suddenly the soft sound of familiar music touched his ears, and his eyes flew open in surprise. He recognized that song... Directly across from the doorway of his cell the portal had again come to life and he saw Egon sitting alone on the sofa in the TV room. Mesmerized by the scene, he climbed to his feet and strode to the doorway. The physicist was sitting with an empty whiskey glass in his hands, his cheeks tear-streaked, as soft, haunting music played in the background.

"I'm sorry, Egon," Venkman whispered. "I'm sorry for what that bastard's putting you through."

Peter watched helplessly as Egon pushed himself to his feet and wandered around the dim room, every now and then pausing to gently touch one of Peter's personal items. At length his wanders led him to the bookcase and he stood for a long time staring at the collection of books there. The physicist's grief-lined face softened as he pulled out one leather-bound book and ran his fingers over the cover. Peter knew his friend was remembering the first Christmas they had spent in the firehall and also how delighted Peter had been with this particular gift.

"I'd been meaning to read that again," Peter murmured wistfully, watching as Spengler carefully returned the book to its proper place. "Just never got around to it." It looked like he'd never get the chance to do that, or anything else he'd planned on getting to eventually.

As he looked on, Egon leaned over and slid a slim volume out from among Winston's collection of mysteries. He recognized the book, Causes of Death, mainly because he had nearly been driven to toss it into the containment unit when Winston and Ray had persisted in discussing certain rather explicit chapters over the breakfast table. He continued to watch Egon, wondering what his friend found so fascinating in that particular book, especially now. As he recalled, it was filled with details of how novelists could knock off characters in their stories and contained one rather stomach-churning chapter on the details of... If you're still around in the morning, the good physicians of this establishment plan to do an autopsy on your apparently deceased body.

Just as that thought hit him, Egon gasped, dropping the book as though it had burned his fingers. Spinning around, he ran from the room, his face a ghastly white.

"Egon!" Without thinking, Peter sprang forward. Fortunately he didn't hit the energy field head-on. His arm took the brunt of it, sending shock waves of pain through his body before he was thrown to the floor. By the time he had gathered his wits and scrambled back to his feet, his numbed arm hanging by his side, the portal had gone blank. "No!" He could have sobbed in frustration. Chest heaving, he continued to stand there and stare at the vacant portal until it became apparent he wasn't going to be allowed to see what had happened to Egon.

Turning away, he walked with dragging feet over to the mattress and dropped down, as demoralized as he'd ever been in his life. Was this what A'nuit had in mind for him? To allow him to view snippets of his friends' lives as they struggled to deal with his 'death', and then force him to watch as they were murdered? Pressing the heels of his palms tightly against his eyes, Peter struggled to contain the shudders wracking his body. After the demon killed the remaining Ghostbusters, would he then turn his full attention on Peter? What then? If A'nuit had wanted him dead, he would have simply killed him at the Park instead of going through with this elaborate charade. No, killing him outright apparently wasn't in the plan; whatever A'nuit had in mind was more devious...and undoubtedly a thousand times more horrifying than anything he could imagine. Eternity can be a very long time, Dr. Venkman.

His stomach heaved and he took quick gulps of air in an attempt to steady it. "Get a grip, get a grip," he growled. "You didn't used to give up so easy, Pete. Remember what Pop always said, It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings. You're alive and the guys are alive, so for now things are okay." Eternity can be a very long time. "Stop it," he ordered himself sharply. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and start thinking. There's got to be a way out of this."

He shivered again, but this time it was from the cold. Running his hands briskly over his bare arms, he grimaced as he registered the goose bumps peppering his skin. It wasn't until that moment his eyes picked out the neatly-folded bundle of clothes in one dark corner of his cell. Standing, he went over to investigate and to his surprise discovered one of his uniforms and a pair of boots, along with two blankets. It looked like A'nuit didn't want him to freeze to death before he had a chance at him. It didn't take him long to suit up, then wrap one of the blankets around his shoulders for good measure. Walking slowly around the enclosure, he paused in the doorway and looked hopefully at the blank portal, then sighed and moved away, continuing his pacing around the perimeter of the cell. The action served both to warm him somewhat and help clear his head. He was going to need a clear head if he was going to think of a way out.

But after a fifteen minute walk, he was no closer to a plan of escape than he had been when he started. With a sigh of disgust, he flopped down onto the mattress and dropped his head into his hands, massaging his aching temples. There has to be a way out, there just has to be. He refused to believe it was all going to come to a close here, that he was going to end up as demon-food. Nearby a howl of anguish pierced the air and he trembled as the sound of that unknown creature's obvious distress chilled his blood. Looking around at his dark, unpleasant surroundings, he pulled the blanket a little tighter around his shoulders.

Eternity can be a very long time.

*****

Winston closed yet one more file and rubbed his burning eyes. He and Janine had been going through their old files ever since they returned from the hospital. Janine had taken a pile of folders back to her desk so she could work on them there while answering the constantly ringing phone and accepting the continuous delivery of flowers and condolence notes that continued to flow into Ghostbuster Central. Winston wrinkled his nose at the smell that was starting to permeate the firehall; they all appreciated the sentiments, but the place was starting to smell like a funeral home.

With a sigh, he picked up the next file and opened it. While they had a small pile of 'possibles' to look into further, they had no actual leads. Most of their enemies were ghosts and long since locked up in the containment unit. When it got down to real human adversaries the possibilities were few and far between. The name of Walter Peck had been the first one raised and the first cleared. The man had long since left New York City and was living out his life as a petty bureaucrat in a small town in Southern California. The NYPD had done a thorough job checking out his alibi and they were convinced he had nothing to do with the theft of Peter's body. That was one possibility they could discount, but it also meant they were no closer to finding their friend's body than they had been when they started.

Ray had already contacted his local network of friends and occult associates and, while no one had any useful information, they had promised to remain alert and pass on anything they might hear that could be a lead. The occultist was currently logged onto Internet, expanding his circle of contacts across the country. Winston had gone to check on him a few times throughout the day and Janine had fixed him some sandwiches, then stood over him until he ate one, but other than that Ray had remained sequestered with his computer.

Egon hadn't been much better. He had retired to his lab and had spent the entire day looking for additional information on A'nuit. Winston and Janine had checked in on him, too, but he had been less communicative than Ray, and even Janine's persistence couldn't induce him to take more than one or two bites out of the lunch she'd fixed.

Even Slimer, who had taken Peter's death even harder than Winston had anticipated, seemed to have lost his appetite. The little green ghost floated around the firehall aimlessly, stopping often at Peter's locker to cry softly and wring his hands. If he wasn't there he could be found upstairs, sleeping on Venkman's pillow.

"Winston?"

Zeddemore's head shot up at the sound of Janine's voice and he found the secretary standing on the other side of the table, her arms full of file folders.

"I didn't quite get through all these," she apologized. "The phone kept ringing and--"

"It's okay, Janine. Just dump 'em here and I'll get to them later." He stretched his back, grimacing at the stiffness that had settled in. "What time is it anyhow?"

"Almost seven. I've got to go, Winston. I promised to babysit for my sister tonight. I tried to cancel but it was too late for her to find anyone else."

"Seven?" He got to his feet and came around the table to usher the secretary back out to the office area. "Janine, you've done more than enough. Go on home now."

"I've called out for pizza," she announced, her high heels clicking on the floor. "Make sure it gets eaten."

She punctuated that last remark with a stern look and Zeddemore grinned in response. "Yes, ma'am."

When they reached her desk, she turned around to face him. "Your parents called again. They didn't want me to disturb you, they just wanted to make sure you were okay. Same with Egon's mother and Ray's Aunt Lois. They're really worried about all of you and they want to come over, but they don't want to intrude." Pausing, she looked up at him, her face serious. "And I think they want to say good-bye to Peter, but they don't know how to do that, either. I didn't tell them about what happened to his body, and I don't think you have to either, but maybe you guys should think about some sort of...memorial service or something. There are a lot of people out there who cared about Peter and I think they all want a chance to get together to say good-bye to him."

Winston took a deep breath and let it out slowly. They'd only lost Peter yesterday; it seemed far too early to think about a memorial service. Yet it wasn't really; paying last respects to a deceased loved one was one of the first steps in dealing with grief and delaying it wouldn't do any of them any good. Finally he nodded. "I'll talk to Egon and Ray about it tonight. I guess there's no reason to put it off." He smiled faintly. "I think Peter would kind of like the idea of a wake."

The secretary grinned, the first real smile Winston had seen on her face in two days. "A roomful of people standing around talking about nothing but him? You bet he'd like it." But after a moment her amusement faded and her eyes filled. "You're never going to find his body, are you?"

Winston hesitated. "It's a little too soon to know that, Janine. We've just started--"

"No bullshit, Winston," she interrupted sharply. "Tell me what you really think. I need to know."

Zeddemore looked away before answering. "I don't know," he said finally. "I do know what I'll do to the people who did this if I ever get my hands on them, but I don't know that we'll ever find them or Peter's body. We don't have one good, solid lead--not even a mediocre one--and the police are at a loss as much as we are." He looked back at the petite redhead, his face serious. "But I know lots of families who have had to face the loss of a loved one without a body to bury. You just have to understand it's not the body that's important; it's the soul. And our boy had a very good soul."

Janine studied him for a long moment, then leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a hard hug. "Thanks, Winston," she whispered. Pulling away, she turned and walked quickly to the door. "I'll be in early tomorrow. Make sure Ray and Egon eat something." Then she was gone.

Winston waited until the pizza arrived and he had it set up on the kitchen table before going to collect the two scientists. He found Ray staring blearily at a blank computer screen and coaxed him out of his lab without too much trouble, mainly because the engineer just didn't have the spirit to resist. Egon he found squinting painfully at the tiny print in an old, leather-bound book. When Winston looked over the physicist's shoulder he saw the words were in Latin. While Egon could read Latin as fluently as he could read English, it was obvious from his bloodshot eyes he'd gone as far as he could for one night. Ignoring Spengler's protests, he dragged the physicist out of the lab and settled him at the table beside Ray. Only when Winston had placed a piece of pizza in front of each of them did they react. The smell of food seemed to revive Ray somewhat and he listlessly picked up the slice, taking one bite out of it before placing it back on the plate. After a moment Egon did the same. Soon, they were all eating as their bodies' need for food outweighed their indifference. The meal was more or less conducted in silence, each man lost in his own thoughts.

When the last piece was finally consumed, Winston sat back and wiped his fingers on one of the paper napkins he'd laid out. "Anybody had any luck?" he asked, more to break the ice than out of any hope Egon or Ray had come up with anything.

The auburn-haired man shook his head. "I've put out the word to anyone I thought could help, but no one knows anything." A look of chagrin crossed his face. "I've only told people I trust and I've asked them to keep it confidential, but it could leak out--"

"If it does we'll deal with it," Winston said quickly. "Don't sweat it. Egon?" He turned to the silent physicist. "Come up with anything on A'nuit?"

Spengler shook his head, an introspective frown lining his face. "Nothing helpful. I've checked any number of references, but..." His frown deepened. "I'm missing something, I must be." He laid his napkin aside and pushed his chair back. "There are still several authorities I must investigate."

Leaning over the table, Winston caught his wrist and pulled him back down. "But not tonight. It can wait until tomorrow."

"It can not wait," Spengler said sharply. "We must be prepared the next time we meet A'nuit. I do not intend to lose another member of this team due to ignorance and ill-preparedness. I should have thought we had all learned that lesson by now."

Ray's head shot around and he stared at Egon. "Is that what you think? That we lost Peter because of ignorance and not being prepared?"

The physicist was staring at his plate, his jaw set in a hard, grim line. "If I had done the proper research when we first encountered A'nuit, perhaps--"

"Egon, you've been up there for almost ten hours straight going through books and you haven't found anything. Maybe there isn't anything to be found." Laying his hand on the physicist's arm, Ray added softly, "What happened to Peter wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't anyone's fault," said Winston quietly. "I think we all feel like we should have been able to do something to save Peter, but believe me, I've gone over it in my mind a hundred times and I can't see where we could have done anything. It just happened too fast. And Ray may be right--maybe there is nothing out there that could have warned us what might have happened."

"But that makes no sense," Spengler muttered to himself. "There are references to A'nuit going back to the Middle Ages. Why is there no mention of that particular power? I'm missing something, there's something I'm not seeing."

Ray patted his arm. "Know what I think? I think you need to get some sleep. You hardly got any last night." When Egon started to object, Stantz added, "You're so tired you might not recognize one of those obscure references even if you did see it."

Winston had to hide his smile at the look of utter surprise on Egon's face at being caught short in an argument of logic. But finally the physicist nodded. "You're right, of course. Some of the texts I'm examining are so cryptic I might overlook something through carelessness."

"Not carelessness," Ray corrected. "Exhaustion."

Spengler conceded that point with an inclination of his head, then gathered up his plate and napkin. "Why don't we clean up here and call it a night. We can all start again in the morning."

Winston cleared his throat. "One thing before we do that." When Ray and Egon looked at him expectantly, he told them about the conversation he'd had with Janine and her suggestion of a wake.

Ray bit his lip and looked down at his plate. Egon swallowed hard, but nodded. "I think she's right." He turned to the occultist. "Ray, your aunt practically adopted Peter in college and you know how fond Mother is--was of him. Sometimes I think she visited Columbia as much to see him as she did me." That coaxed a tiny grin out of Stantz. "And Winston, even your parents eventually got used to him."

Zeddemore responded to Spengler's dry tone with a lopsided grin. "He charmed the socks right off Mom, and even Dad finally admitted he was okay--and it takes some doing to get that from him."

"I think perhaps we all need a chance to get together and remember Peter with others who loved him too."

Winston heaved a silent sigh of relief; it had gone a lot smoother than he had anticipated. "We don't have to work out any details tonight. Janine said she'll be in early tomorrow and she'll help in any way she can."

"It all seems so final."

That softly spoken declaration by Ray caused Egon to slide an arm around the younger man's bowed shoulders. "Yes," he agreed, his voice carefully steady. "I know."

After a few moments Ray sighed heavily, then nodded. "We'll do something really nice, something Peter would really love."

A sad smile touched Egon's lips and he tightened his arm around Ray's shoulders. "We will indeed, Ray. We will indeed."

*****

Still towel-drying his hair from his shower, Ray stopped just inside the bedroom door and let his eyes travel around the darkened room. Winston was already in bed but of Egon there was no sign. The physicist had volunteered for cleanup duty after dinner, but what little cleaning needed to be done after eating pizza out of the box certainly wouldn't have taken this long. Turning, Ray tossed the damp towel into the hamper and headed downstairs, his concern for his friend increasing with each step. He was ashamed to admit he had been so lost in his own grief and pain he hadn't noticed what a toll Peter's loss was taking on Egon until he saw at dinner how spent the physicist was, both physically and emotionally.

He was certain Egon hadn't slept at all last night, and this morning he couldn't have gotten more than two hours' worth before they left for the hospital; if indeed he slept at all, imagining what was facing him at the morgue. Even worse, not only was Egon blaming himself for not being able to prevent Peter's death, he was driving himself to exhaustion trying to find answers that might not even exist. He's trying to take on all the responsibility himself, trying to handle it all so Winston and I won't have to. Ray squared his shoulders as he neared the bottom on the stairs. Well, Peter wouldn't have let him get away with that, and neither will I. Even that brief memory of their lost friend brought fresh tears and made him momentarily falter in his resolution, but he quickly brushed the wetness from his eyes as he reached the second level. We counted on Peter so much to keep us on an even emotional keel. No one was better at figuring out what was going on with us and knowing what to do and say at just the right time. I'll never be as good as Peter at doing that, but I'm going to have to try.

Ray heard the sobs as soon as he reached the doorway of the kitchen. Standing frozen in the opening, he stared in dismay at the scene in front of him. The empty pizza boxes still sat untouched on the table, and Egon, his glasses discarded by his elbow and his head in his hands, was sobbing with an intensity that shook his entire body.

Ray didn't hesitate. Moving swiftly across the kitchen, he slid into the chair next to Egon's, put his arms around the shaking body, and pulled him into a strong embrace. Too startled--or too emotionally ravaged--to resist, Spengler allowed himself to be drawn into the hug, his arms going around Stantz' body in an almost desperate squeeze. There were no words to ease the pain for either of them, so Ray remained silent, offering comfort by his presence and tactile contact, sensing that was what Egon needed most. He ran one hand up and down the quivering back, using the other to press the blond head against his shoulder. At long last the older man's sobs subsided and he pulled back. Ray tightened his grip briefly, then released him, keeping one arm across the slumped shoulders.

Spengler sat back in his chair, fumbled a handkerchief out of his pocket, and wiped his face. When he finally had his voice under control, he managed a hoarse, "I'm sorry."

Ray tightened his arm around the older man's shoulders. "There's nothing to be sorry for, Egon," he said gently. "I miss him, too."

Bloodshot eyes, glazed with pain, studied him intently for a moment before sliding shut. "Yes. I know." The physicist took a deep, shaky breath, then opened his eyes and stared blankly into space. "It's only been one day," he said in a near-whisper, his tone one of disbelief. "Only one day and..."

"And you're just beginning to realize he's going to be gone for the rest of your life," Ray finished softly, his own eyes brimming. "Me, too." When Spengler merely nodded in assent, his gaze still faraway, Ray said, "He put so much color into our lives."

"That he did," the blond man murmured.

His eyes on the older man's face, Ray added, "And noise."

Egon blinked once or twice, as if brought out of a trance, then turned to look at the occultist, a soft, grateful smile touching his lips. "Peter would call it 'sound effects'," he corrected with a touch of dryness in a voice that wasn't quite steady. He held Ray's gaze for a long moment, then shifted so he could pull the younger man into a tight hug. "Thank you," he whispered.

Ray returned the hug with all his strength. "For what?"

"For reminding me that feeling sorry for myself is no way to honor Peter's memory."

"I'm here, Egon. Winston and I are both here for you. Don't try to handle all this by yourself." Stantz pressed the side of his face hard against Egon's. "Peter wouldn't want that."

A soft sigh brushed past Ray's ear. "No, he wouldn't."

When Egon finally relaxed his grip and pulled back, Stantz studied his drawn face. "You need to get some rest."

The physicist gestured at the littered table. "As soon as I clean up--"

Ray shook his head. "It can wait until tomorrow." Getting to his feet, he gripped Spengler's arm and pulled him up, as well. "Come on, you have to get some sleep before you collapse." When the blond opened his mouth to demur, Stantz added softly, "I know it's hard, Egon, but we'll go up together, okay?"

Whatever protest Egon was about to offer died on his lips. Nodding, he allowed himself to be led from the kitchen and together they climbed the stairs to the bedroom.

*****

Peter huddled miserably on the thin mattress and pulled the covers more tightly around himself, seeking warmth. He was cold all the time and since it was continually dim and murky in his cell he never knew if it was night or day. Even his body couldn't keep its normal schedule because his sleep was constantly interrupted by the unearthly screams and shrieks that echoed around him. If he was lucky he could snatch an hour or two of restless sleep before being yanked awake by some hideous noise that never sounded that far away. His stomach was no help, either, because he had long ago lost his appetite. He ate what was given to him, realizing he had to keep up his strength, but that was a matter of survival, not hunger. Although he never saw the sparse supplies of food that appeared in the dark corner of his prison cell arrive, he was willing to swear they materialized at irregular intervals to keep him off balance. If Neeson--or A'nuit--was trying to completely disorient him, they had done a world class job. He couldn't tell if he'd been imprisoned three days or three months, or if it was six o'clock in the morning or six at night. He rubbed a hand against one cheek; he could feel the uncomfortable stubble of beard on his face and knew that should be a pretty good indication of how much time had passed, but he kept remembering Neeson's words, You'll find that time in this dimension has very little meaning. Perhaps his bodily functions had slowed in reaction to the altered time flow around him. There was just no way he could be certain of anything.

Grabbing a handful of blanket, he pulled it up to his nose, cursing the damp cold that seemed to seep into his bones. It wasn't Antarctica, but it was colder than the firehall had ever been on its worst day and it never got any warmer. What was worse, there was no sun or light to alleviate the unrelenting darkness. At Columbia he had once read a paper outlining the results of a study done on a control group who had volunteered to live in darkness for a specified period of time. He wondered idly if he'd live long enough to start showing the signs of prolonged light-deprivation.

Rolling over fitfully, he stared out the doorway to the dark portal. After Neeson left, scenes of his friends had flashed by briefly at odd intervals. Once he had caught a glimpse of Ray and Egon in the back seat of Ecto. Ray was sobbing while Egon, with a look of utter shock on his face, held him close. That had confused him at first, but then he realized they must have discovered his body was missing from the hospital. It would have been one more terrible shock on top of the first, the effect being to demoralize them even further.

After that there were more sporadic glimpses of goings-on at the firehall, including one particularly unsettling scene of Egon in his lab hurling empty test tubes to the floor until he had smashed an entire carton of them. A ghost of a smile touched Peter's lips even as fresh tears stung his eyes at the memory. "At least you learned something from me. That anger's gotta come out. Better to smash some replaceable lab equipment than to bottle it inside until it starts eating you up. I'm proud of you, big guy."

His thoughts lingered on the final scene he had witnessed not very long ago, of Ray and Egon in the kitchen. He had known Winston would do his best to be there for both Egon and Ray and try to help them both through their grief. And he had known Egon would do everything in his power to support Ray, to the point of keeping his own sorrow to himself rather than burden the younger man. What he hadn't known for sure was whether Ray, lost in his own anguish, would recognize that in time to step forward and encourage Egon to unburden himself and share his pain. A fond smile touched Peter's lips as he remembered the engineer's words and actions in the kitchen as he gently offered both support and solace. "Guess I shouldn't have worried," he said softly. "And I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, either. Looking out for each other is what we all did best."

But memories of those scenes only reminded him of his friends' pain and his own helplessness and despair. Alone, with only his thoughts for company, he was left to wonder when A'nuit would be coming for him and what his fate would finally be when it happened.

*****

Egon's brow furrowed in concentration as he paused over a particularly complex reference to demons in the ancient text he was translating. Setting the book aside, he methodically entered some notes into the database he was creating, then returned to the thick, fragile volume, straining to make out the faint ink. He was still engrossed in his task when a tentative hand on his shoulder brought his head up. Ray, dressed in a dark suit, was standing by his side, his usually cheerful face pale and somber.

"It's almost time, Egon. You'd better change."

Almost time. It was almost time for Peter's memorial service. Taking off his glasses, Egon rubbed his aching eyes. It occurred to him that they hadn't really stopped moving since Peter's death. There had been one shock after another: Peter's death, the abduction of his body, the frustrating and unsuccessful search for clues to lead them to his stolen body, the preparation for the memorial service, and always in the background the terrible knowledge that A'nuit could return and they were no more prepared to defeat him now than they had been at Central Park. Less, because their team was now incomplete.

'Who you gonna call?' had become their light-hearted motto, but it was no joke. When citizens across the country came up against the supernatural, it was the Ghostbusters they looked to for help. Whether the entity was a harmless but annoying class two or Gozer, the Ghostbusters were the only ones civilians had to turn to for protection. The responsibility weighed on them heavily, but never so heavily as it did now when Egon knew he still had no good answers as to how to deal with A'nuit.

With so much to deal with there had been no time to really stop and think about how their lives had been irrevocably changed by the loss of their friend and how much that loss hurt.

"I miss him so much."

The soft confession pulled Egon out of his thoughts as effectively as if he had been physically yanked. His eyes shot to Ray's face and, even though his vision was faintly blurred from lack of glasses, he could plainly see standing tears in the younger man's eyes and the utter sorrow on his face. Without thought, he got to his feet and opened his arms. Ray fell into the offered embrace immediately, his arms going around Egon's waist in a tight hug as he pressed his face against the physicist's chest.

"I can't believe how much I miss him," Stantz whispered, his voice breaking on a sob.

Spengler's eyes slid shut as he struggled to control his own voice. "I can," he managed. "He was with us so long, we went through so much together...it just seems impossible..." He let his voice trail off, giving up trying to verbalize his feelings. He was supposed to deliver the eulogy in just a few hours, and he still had no idea how he was going to put into words everything he felt for Peter Venkman and how much their friend had meant to them all.

"I don't think I can say good-bye to him today."

Ray's voice was muffled against his chest, but the anguish in his tone was impossible to miss. Raising his hand, Spengler rested it against the back of the younger man's head, stroking his hair lightly. "You don't have to say good-bye today, Raymond," he said gently. "I don't think any of us are ready to do that." Hesitating, he added carefully, "But Peter wouldn't want us to cry too long, you know. He would want us to accept what has happened and begin to go on with our lives."

Stantz' head moved against his chest in a nod of agreement. "I know. But can we really...do you think we can go on as Ghostbusters?" Pulling his head away he looked up at Egon, eyes clouded. "Do you honestly want to?"

Again Egon hesitated before speaking. "I don't know," he answered finally, realizing he hadn't allowed his thought processes to progress that far. While he loved his work as a Ghostbuster, it was Peter who had been the spark behind the company's formation, and Egon wasn't sure he could stay in a business that had killed his friend knowing it could happen again, perhaps claiming Ray as the next victim. He wasn't certain he was prepared to take that chance. "But I do know we can't quit yet, not while A'nuit is still free." His voice grew hard with determination. "We must find a way to destroy him, Ray. When we've accomplished that, then we can discuss whether we want to continue as a business."

Stantz looked at him a moment longer, then dropped his head back to Egon's chest and tightened his arms. "We'll get A'nuit," he promised flatly.

Standing as they were, locked together, they couldn't see the door and neither heard Winston enter. They weren't aware of his presence until they both felt the strong arms encircling them and pulling them closer. "You two okay?"

Egon felt a twinge of guilt at the quiet solicitousness in Winston's tone. He and Ray had been so lost in their own pain over the last three days they hadn't really inquired about Winston's. Yet Zeddemore always seemed to be there with his special brand of strength whenever they needed him. Egon knew Winston was hurting badly from Peter's loss, too, but Zeddemore's main concern always seemed to be how Egon and Ray were coping. He shifted to grip one of Winston's shoulders. "I think we just needed a moment."

Winston nodded his understanding. "Yeah, it's going to be a long day." Giving both men a gentle shake, he said, "I know it's gonna be tough, but remember, it's for Peter."

That brought a soft smile to Spengler's face. "It is indeed." His fingers tightened on the black man's shoulder. "Thank you." Waiting until Ray released his tight grip, he stepped back and replaced his glasses on his nose, then squared his shoulders as he faced his two friends. "I'll go change, then see you both downstairs." His eyes resting on Ray's face, he added softly, "Let's make Peter proud."

Stantz raised his chin slightly in response, his voice firm as he replied, as Peter had so many times in the past, "Let's do it."

*****

Egon nodded his polite thanks to yet another offer of condolence, then turned away and swiftly made his escape. Without conscious thought as to where he was going or what he was going to do once he got there, he found himself in Peter's office. There, out of sight of the crowd filling the firehall, he sank down into the chair behind the desk and closed his eyes, trying to blank out the murmuring sound of the assembled mourners. They were all friends, and they all meant well, but if he heard one more word of comfort or saw one more sympathetic glance in his direction, he wasn't sure he'd be able to overcome the temptation to grab a thrower and clear the room.

He leaned back into Peter's chair, sighing deeply. That's an unworthy thought, Egon, he remonstrated himself sternly. These people were Peter's friends, too. But they hadn't worked with Peter day in and day out, hadn't lived with him, gone through college with him, nursed him through two bouts of pneumonia, and tutored him through his encounter with higher physics. They hadn't shared long nights over cups of hot chocolate when Peter's insomnia kept him from sleep, spent days planning the next retaliatory practical joke in a contest which had gone on since Columbia, or trusted their lives to him when a class seven entity was attacking. They may have known Peter, but they didn't know him as he did, hadn't loved him as he had, wouldn't miss him as he would. When they left the memorial they could go back to their homes and carry on, their lives virtually unchanged. But his home was here where everything he saw reminded him of Peter, and his life had been changed forever. It isn't fair--

He blinked suddenly as the words in his mind registered and he gave a short, choked laugh. "Anger? What stage of the grieving process is that, Dr. Venkman?"

"Number three, I think."

Spengler's head shot up at the sound of the quiet, level voice, but he relaxed as his mother stepped through the gate and into the room.

"When you weren't in your lab, I thought I might find you here." Moving over beside the desk, she smiled as she sat down in the visitor's chair. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I won't blow your cover. Your absence is conspicuous, but no one is going to intrude." When he lifted an inquiring eyebrow, she added, "Except me, of course, but I'm your mother. It's my job to intrude now and then." She leaned closer and took his hand, her voice soft. "Especially when I need to know if you're all right." When his eyes slid away, she squeezed his hand. "I realize it's not easy to believe right now, but in time it won't hurt so much. I know."

He looked up at her, saw the sad knowledge in her eyes and covered her smaller hand with his. "I know you know," he said gravely, remembering the shock of his father's death and how hard she had tried to be strong for him in the aftermath.

"He was a good friend to you, Spookums."

Egon nodded. "I hope I was as good a friend to him."

"You needn't worry on that account," his mother said briskly. "I remember how Peter was when I first met him. I wondered what on earth the two of you saw in each other." Slowly, a smile formed on her face. "But before long I began seeing changes--in both of you. And they were good changes. You'd always had my sense of humor, dear, but no one to encourage it. Peter brought that out in you, and he taught you there was more to life than studying and getting good grades--not that there was anything wrong with those things," she added dryly. "But you did tend to focus on your studies to the exclusion of all else. It wasn't hard to see that you became a happier person after Peter entered your life."

Egon smiled, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "I'd never met anyone quite like him before."

"And I don't think he'd ever met anyone quite like you. I remember you telling me how popular Peter was on campus and how he was always surrounded by other students, but after I met him for the first time I thought I'd never seen anyone so lonely. As time went on all that changed. He loved you like a brother, Egon, and he trusted you. His mother and I used to talk about that--yes, sweetheart, that's what mothers do when they get together; they talk about their offspring--and she told me about his childhood. Because of Charlie's, ah, occupation, they moved around a lot, often a step ahead of the sheriff coming with the eviction papers, and he never had a chance to make lasting friendships while he was growing up. Margaret once told me you were the first real friend Peter ever had."

Egon's eyes fell on the gold ballpoint pen of Peter's laying on the desk, remembering how often it had gone through the wash and how many times Peter had torn apart the firehall when he'd mislaid it. It was the only present he could remember Peter's father giving the psychologist. Intended as a graduation gift, it had never seemed to matter to Peter that it had come a good six months after a ceremony his father had missed. He picked it up and fingered it gently. "And he was the first real friend I had."

Katherine's hand tightened around his. "I know. Remember what a true friend he was, son, but never forget what a good friend you were. If he made your life a happier one, you made his life happier, too. The last time I talked to Margaret, only a few months before she died, she told me she had never seen Peter so content with his life; and there had been a time when she was afraid she'd never see that. Be very proud of that, Egon, because it was you--and Ray--who began making the difference all those years ago at Columbia."

Egon was silent a long time, letting the truth of his mother's words and the ambiance of Peter's private space in the office gently wash over him. Finally, he leaned over and kissed his mother on the cheek. "Thank you, Mom. I think I'm ready to go back now."

His mother got to her feet, still holding Egon's hand. "I wish the embassy had been able to locate Charlie," she sighed. "This is going to be so terrible for him."

Egon nodded as he climbed slowly to his feet. He had been in constant contact with the South African Embassy and they seemed to be doing everything they could, but Charlie Venkman was in a remote part of South Africa where communication was sporadic at best. For Peter's sake, he hated the idea of Mr. Venkman hearing the news about his son from a stranger, but there was little he could do to spare him that.

"I know you're not overly fond of him, dear, but he really does love Peter."

The physicist looked at his mother in some surprise. "I never said--"

"You never had to. You made your feelings pretty obvious."

"He may love Peter, but he is totally irresponsible, Mother, and completely insensitive to Peter's feelings."

"He has his flaws," Katherine acknowledged. "But he is Peter's father and he does love him." She paused, then added with no attempt at subtlety, "He's going to need a lot of support when he gets back."

Egon stared at her. "He's going to need support?" His voice cracked as his pain and frustration edged closer to the surface, "Mom, I don't even know what to do for Ray! He's in so much pain, and I don't know how to help him. He's turning to me and I don't know how--"

Katherine took his arm and tilted her head to meet his eyes. "Just be here for him, Egon," she said seriously. "I know it's a temptation to find refuge in your work, close out all the hurt, and hide in your lab, but don't give in to it. Ray needs to know he hasn't lost you, too."

Egon looked at his mother a long time, then a fond smile touched his lips and he leaned over to whisper in her ear, "No wonder Peter thought you were such a special lady," before he led her out of the office.

*****

"Well, well, well. Still here, Venkman? You mean you haven't devised some plan of escape yet?"

Peter shot upright at the sound of Neeson's voice, throwing aside the tangled covers. The English occultist was standing on the other side of the doorway, looking as dapper and well-groomed as usual. As he climbed stiffly to his feet Peter was only too aware of his own disheveled appearance: he had no comb to run though his hair, no razor to shave with, and it was so cold he was sleeping in his clothes. Straightening his spine, he walked over to the doorway and gazed coolly at the other man. "You mean A'nuit hasn't had you for lunch yet?"

Neeson only smiled. "A'nuit and I have an understanding."

"Demons don't understand anything except treachery. And they don't make bargains with humans."

"This demon did. But I'm not here to discuss my arrangement with A'nuit, which is none of your concern. This is a very special day back in your world and I thought you'd like to know about it." Neeson paused and even in the dimness Peter could see the glint of triumph in his eyes. When Peter didn't rise to the bait the Englishman leaned forward, offering, "It's the day of your wake, Venkman. Your friends are all getting together today for your official send-off. Isn't that touching?" Peter felt his fingernails biting into his palms, but said nothing. "This should be quite a lot of fun. You wouldn't want to miss it, would you?"

Peter was almost staggered by the rush of emotions that hit him. The guys were holding his wake. They were going to say good-bye to him. He had known, of course, that they believed him dead. They had been given what appeared to be incontrovertible proof of his death and were now taking the steps he would expect in dealing with their grief and getting on with their lives. If he had ever for one second wondered how much he meant to them or questioned his importance in their lives, he had his answer in what he had seen and heard since his 'death'. He was as important to them as they were to him, as loved by them as they were by him.

Aware of Neeson's sly gaze on him, he schooled his face to a mask of casual vanity. "I hope they spared no expense. After all, I'm famous."

The Englishman gave him a sharp look, then a slow smile split his thin face. "That's very good, Venkman. One would almost believe you mean it. I don't, of course, but it was still very good. I'd like to stay and enjoy this little melodrama with you, but I have other pressing matters to attend to. Besides..." Neeson shivered delicately. "I find this place rather dreary and depressing. How do you bear it?" With a mocking wave of his hand, he turned and walked down the dark corridor, his heels echoing hollowly in the darkness.

Nothing in life had prepared Peter for the feeling of hatred that flooded his soul. His anger was so great his voice came out in a strangled whisper. "You're gonna pay for this, Neeson. You're gonna pay. I am going to find a way out of here, and when I do I swear I'm going to track you down no matter what dimension you're hiding in and I'm going to--"

We are all here today because Peter Venkman in some way touched our lives.

Peter's eyes flew to the portal where he saw Egon, dressed impeccably in his best suit, standing in front of a throng of people.

I am here because Peter not only touched my life, he shared it, enhanced it, changed it, brightened it, and on several occasions, saved it.

As Peter watched, a helpless observer of what was going on in his own world, Egon Spengler delivered his eulogy.

*****

Winston rolled over onto his back with a gusty sigh. Sleep just wasn't going to come tonight, no matter how tired he was. The memorial service had been hard but, as he expected, it had been hardest on Egon and Ray. Egon had delivered a beautiful tribute to Peter, his voice rich with pride and affection as he spoke of their lost friend. But afterward he had disappeared and it was a long time before he reappeared with his mother taking a protective stance by his side. Ray moved through the entire service as if in a daze, nodding politely as fellow mourners paid their respects, but saying little. His eyes kept seeking out Egon, but he rarely moved from his Aunt Lois' side. Winston was glad to have his own parents there; it was good to be able to look around and reassure himself that at least some part of his world was still intact.

They all owed Janine and Mrs. Spengler a huge debt. The two ladies seemed to be everywhere, seeing to the food, attending to the guests, and keeping an eye on both Egon and Ray, ready to move in if they saw either one was in danger of being overwhelmed by the constant flow of sympathetic words. People always meant well in those situations, but more than once Winston saw Janine fly to Ray's side and squeeze his hand in silent support when he seemed to be on the verge of breaking down. He'd seen Egon cast more than a few worried glances in the engineer's direction, too, but Egon had taken it upon himself to make sure he spoke a few words to each guest, and that left him little time to devote to Ray. As the day wore on, Winston could see the toll it was taking on his friends and it was with a collective sigh of relief that they ushered the final guest out the door.

And now it was... Winston checked the digital read-out of his clock. 1:16. His body was exhausted, but his mind wouldn't rest. He could hear the distinctive sound of Ray's soft snores in the darkness and what passed for snores from Slimer where the little ghost was curled up on Peter's pillow. He was glad Ray was getting some much-needed sleep, but he wasn't surprised to hear no accompanying sounds from Egon. No doubt the physicist was in his lab again, still trying to come up with some way to defeat A'nuit. Throwing aside his covers, Winston slid his feet into slippers and headed for the door.

The light was on in the lab across the hallway and Egon's personal computer was humming away but the room itself was empty. After a brief deliberation, Winston left the lab and descended to the second floor. There he found Spengler in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove in his nightshirt and stirring something in a pan. It took his nose only an instant to recognize the rich aroma of homemade cocoa, made the old-fashioned way with real cocoa powder and sweetened to taste. There was no such thing as instant cocoa when Egon made it.

Not wanting to startle the physicist, Winston tapped lightly on the door frame. When Egon looked around, he asked, "Mind some company?"

"Of course not. Would you like some cocoa?" The blond man looked down at the pot in front of him, then back at Winston, a somewhat helpless look on his angular face. "I seem to have made enough for two."

Winston tried hard not to react to the emptiness of Spengler's tone. Nodding, he moved to the cupboard to take out two cups and set them on the table, then took a chair and watched as Egon carefully poured the steaming liquid. They had all shared odd-hour cocoa sessions with Egon at one time or another, but Egon and Peter had raised the ritual to an art form. When Peter's bouts with insomnia coincided with one of Egon's late nights in the lab, Winston and Ray could usually count on finding a scrubbed pan and two neatly washed mugs in the sink the next morning, testifying to a late-night exchange that sometimes lasted until dawn. Zeddemore watched Egon as he took his place opposite and knew the blond man must be thinking of those occasions now.

"I still can't believe he's gone." Egon's deep voice was very quiet as he stared into the dark depths of the liquid in his cup. "I know, of course, that he is, and we all knew it could happen to any one of us at any time on any job, but up to this point we'd always been so...lucky." His body quavered with a deep sigh. "I guess I just thought we'd always be lucky."

Winston nodded in silent agreement. It had seemed that way to him, too. But their luck had run out four days ago in Central Park and as a result they were all facing a future very different from the one they had all imagined and hoped for.

"There will be matters to be seen to," Egon continued, still in that same quiet voice. "Peter's will, his personal belongings, his files, and there was an article I know he was working on for Psychology Today--" He had to stop to clear his throat. "I'd like to spare Ray as much of that as possible."

"Egon, anything you want me to do," Winston offered, trying to get the man to look up and meet his eyes, "you just tell me and I'll do it. But you might want to re-think trying to spare Ray some of this." At that, Egon did look up. "It's all part of saying good-bye," Zeddemore said gently. "And it's all part of laying Peter to rest. I think we all need that."

Spengler's shoulders slumped a little and his eyes again dropped. "You're right of course. I suppose I was just trying to..." He raised one hand in a vague gesture but didn't complete the thought.

"I know what you were trying to do," Winston said kindly. "And it was a generous thought, but none of us expect you to do everything yourself. We all want to help, okay?"

After a moment the blond head bobbed. They sat in silence a while longer, then perhaps not unexpectedly Egon said,

"I don't think we're going to recover his body."

"I don't think so either. I think Ray's still hoping, though."

Egon sighed. "I know. I'll talk to him tomorrow. Normally I wouldn't want to discourage any hope he may have, but in this case..."

"He's only making it harder on himself," Winston finished.

Spengler nodded, absently fingering the mug in front of him. "As if it could be any harder." He gave his head a slight shake. "I'm missing something," he said in a louder voice, one edged with frustration. "I must be. I've been through every possible reference work that deals with demons, translated every mention of A'nuit, and there is nothing to indicate he has the power to do what he did to Peter. And that," he finished flatly, "is impossible." He took a sip of his cocoa and frowned. "Not enough sugar," he muttered and got to his feet.

As Egon reached into one of the wall cupboards for the sugar bowl, Winston heaved a sigh. No one could have searched for answers any harder than Egon, but if he'd found no answers then it was plain to Winston there just weren't any to be found. "Maybe Ray is right. Maybe there isn't anything to be found."

Turning back with the sugar bowl in his hand, Egon said with a touch of impatience, "Winston, I told you--" Suddenly a look of astonishment crossed his face and the bowl slipped from his fingers, grains of sugar blossoming into a large white ant hill on the floor as the bowl shattered. "I am a fool!"

Winston jumped to his feet. "Egon, what the hell--"

The astonishment on the physicist's face was rapidly replaced by outrage. "It was there all along and I never saw it!"

"Saw what? Egon, what are you talking about?"

"Egon, Winston, what's wrong? What happened?" Apparently awakened by the crash, Ray rushed into the kitchen, stopping just in time to avoid stepping on a broken piece of pottery with his bare feet.

Spengler's face was a picture of anguish. "It was there all along--Ray, you even told me--but I couldn't see it."

Stantz was looking at them both in confusion. "Couldn't see what?"

Egon took a deep breath and Winston could see him trying to regain some control. When he spoke, the physicist's voice carried a tremor, but whether from excitement or anger, Winston couldn't tell. "All the research I've been doing on A'nuit has been useless. The reason I found nothing is because there really was nothing to find." His tone intense, he turned to Ray. "A'nuit doesn't have the power to do what we thought he did; that's why I haven't been able to find any mention of it. Then he must be in league with someone who does."

It only took an instant for Ray's mind to grasp the implications. "He was summoned!" he cried. "He's working with a human."

Egon nodded, anger blazing like blue flames in his eyes. "Ray, if you were to name the one person you could think of who has the knowledge and the skill, not only to summon a demon of A'nuit's power, but to control him as well, who would that be?"

Without even thinking about it, Stantz answered, "Geoffrey Neeson." As soon as the words left his mouth, the occultist's face drained. "But if A'nuit didn't kill Peter, that means..."

"Neeson did," Winston finished grimly. He remembered their run-in with the British occultist all too well, and the spell book Neeson had tried to claim for his own. "That sonofabitch. It was him, wasn't it? He's behind it all, murdering Peter, stealing his body--"

Stantz gave a cry of distress and Egon quickly reached out to grip the younger man's shoulders. "I'm afraid so," he said quietly. "An autopsy would have revealed how he killed Peter, and he had to avoid that at all costs."

Winston's hands curled into balls on top of the table. "That man's got a lot to answer for."

"And he's going to answer to us," Spengler promised, his voice tight with deadly anger.

Ray pulled out from under Egon's grip and dropped heavily into a chair, his face blank with shock. "Neeson killed Peter," he whispered. Winston knew how Ray felt; somehow it seemed all the more heinous that the act had been committed by another human instead of a supernatural being.

Egon sank back down into his chair, but it was a long time before he broke the silence. "Neeson wanted revenge and A'nuit wanted us out of the way. It was a perfect partnership."

"Why Peter?" Winston saw the question on Ray's face, but he was the one who voiced it.

Egon's jaw tightened. "I don't think it mattered to Neeson which one of us was disposed of first, although I would have thought he would have chosen me. More likely Peter was A'nuit's choice. You remember how Peter baited him the other times we fought him. I was very concerned the last time we went up against him that A'nuit would turn his attentions on Peter."

"You were right," Ray said quietly.

Spengler nodded. "With Peter gone and only three of us left, A'nuit probably thought he could take his time with us. From what I've read of his history, that would be his style." His mouth twisted in distaste. "In fact, one of the names attributed to him in the Middle Ages translates as 'Slow Devourer.'

"

Winston felt a cold prickling on the back of his neck. "Slow Devourer," he muttered, grimacing as if he'd just tasted something bad. "So why hasn't he come for us? What's he waiting for?"

"He'll come," Egon replied grimly. "Obviously he doesn't believe there's any hurry. Besides, I'm certain this isn't the only world he visits."

Zeddemore looked at him in shock. "You mean he goes from dimension to dimension and--and--"

When he couldn't finish it, Egon did. "Tortures and devours his victims. Yes, Winston, that is exactly what I mean. We've been extremely fortunate in the last few hundred years; obviously A'nuit has found other worlds to amuse him. The few times he tried to enter our world in the last year we were able to drive him back. But now, of course, he will try again, and with Neeson's help, he may succeed."

"Okay, what about Neeson?" Zeddemore asked suddenly. "What if we find him? If he's controlling this demon, then all we have to do is get our hands on him and do a little 'controlling' of our own."

The physicist shook his head. "I doubt that would work, even if we could locate him. By now I'm certain Neeson has gone so far underground it could take us years--"

"I think I know where he is."

Egon stopped and stared at Ray, who had remained silent throughout the discussion, his face puckered in concentration as he stared at the table top. "What did you say, Ray?"

Stantz looked up at him, eyes somber with some dark knowledge. "I've been trying to figure out how Neeson is controlling A'nuit. None of the known binding spells would hold a demon of his power; it has to be something else."

"What do you think it is?" Egon prompted when Ray paused.

"A blood binding," Stantz replied.

Winston's eyes traveled to Egon's face to gauge the physicist's reaction and he wasn't reassured when he saw no recognition there. "I don't believe I've heard--"

"It's so rare some experts believe the ritual is nothing but a myth, but it's got to be the answer."

Ray sounded so positive Winston unconsciously leaned forward and saw Egon do the same. "Tell us," Spengler directed, a spark of eagerness flashing in his eyes.

They listened as Ray carefully explained what he knew of a blood binding ritual and when he finished, Egon was nodding.

"That would make sense," Spengler said slowly. "It would provide protection for Neeson and A'nuit both."

"And there's more."

When Zeddemore and Egon looked at him expectantly, Stantz added, "It would give Neeson the ability to travel to the Netherworld."

"What?" Winston's eyes widened in shock at the revelation. "He can do that? You mean he doesn't need a machine like your gizmo? He can just go there whenever he wants?"

Egon frowned slightly. "Ray?"

The auburn-haired man nodded. "They're bound. As long as A'nuit is free to travel between our world and his, so can Neeson." Sitting back in his chair, he stated flatly, "And I think that's where he is."

Spengler looked thoughtful. "That would be the ideal sanctuary," he agreed. "Under A'nuit's protection, he would have nothing to fear there."

Winston considered everything he'd been told, then said, "I hope neither one of you were planning on going to the police with this." When they both looked at him, he said, "We may know who's behind everything, but we don't have a shred of evidence. Besides, the cops can't exactly get a warrant to search the Netherworld."

Egon sat back in his chair, fingering his cold cup of cocoa. "I wasn't actually thinking of turning this over to the police," he said in a quiet voice. "At least not yet. I'd rather we handle it ourselves."

When Ray nodded his immediate agreement, Winston said steadily, "That makes it unanimous. What's our first step?"

Both he and Ray automatically looked at Egon, who tapped his finger on the rim of his cup for a few moments before replying. "We have two options," he said finally. "We can wait until A'nuit appears again and then--"

"No," Ray broke in, vehemently shaking his head. "We can't do that. He's too dangerous, Egon. He may not have killed Peter the way we thought, but he can kill. He could hurt dozens of people before we get anywhere near him."

"I concur, Ray, but it was an option I needed to mention."

"So what's behind door number two?" Winston asked, although he already knew the answer.

Egon turned a level gaze on him. "We go the Netherworld to find him. I have A'nuit's readings which we can use to track him, and with him, hopefully we will find Neeson as well. As you know, Winston, the Netherworld is the size of the universe, but we may be able to narrow down our search by going back to Central Park to the location of the last dimensional gateway he used. If we take the molecular amplifier there and use it to transport ourselves while in the same vicinity as the gateway, we may put ourselves a little closer to him. The fabric between the two dimensions may be weakened enough to allow a preferential direction of transport to occur so we would, essentially, be following him." He paused. "I realize this is a long shot and we will be deliberately putting ourselves into A'nuit's realm, but--"

Winston stopped him by laying a hand on his arm. "So what are we waiting for?"

*****

"I still say you're going to need me there."

Winston suppressed a sigh as he turned to face a very irritated Janine Melnitz. Taking her arm, he led her away from where Ray and Egon were setting up the molecular amplifier in Central Park. Needing someone to return the piece of expensive equipment back to Ghostbuster Central after they transported to the other world, they had reluctantly roused Janine just before dawn so she could accompany them to the park. When she heard their plan she insisted on going with them to the Netherworld, but despite the fact that another thrower would have been more than welcome, none of them were prepared to let their secretary take that risk.

"Janine, we've been all through this," Winston said reasonably. "We need someone to take Ray's gizmo back to Central so--"

"Then hire a mover," Janine snapped. "You guys are going to need me there and don't try to tell me you're not because I know better."

Zeddemore stopped and turned toward her, taking her gently by the shoulders. "Look, I know how you feel and I know how much you want to be in on this, but there is just no way you're going." When she opened her mouth to protest, he raised a finger. "And even if you found some way to sweet talk me and Ray, there's no way Egon would let you go along, and you know it."

Melnitz clamped her mouth shut, but her eyes still smoldered with anger. "It's not fair," she muttered.

Zeddemore slid an arm around her shoulders and casually turned her away from where they were heading. "I know. There's been a lot of unfair things happening recently."

The secretary stopped suddenly and glanced over her shoulder. "That's where it happened, isn't it?" she asked, her voice catching. "I saw the look on your face and Ray's been looking over there ever since we got here."

Winston nodded and kept walking, guiding her away from the spot Peter had fallen. He felt her shiver and tightened his arm, pulling her closer.

"You guys had better come back if you know what's good for you," she said fiercely, her jaw tight with worry.

"We'll be back," he assured her in what he hoped was a confident tone. "Egon's boosted the power on the destabilizer and he figures with that added firepower, we should be able to take A'nuit."

"Should. But he's not sure."

Winston looked at her. "He's as sure as he can be, Janine. We can't ask any more of him than that."

Janine bit her lip but said nothing. They arrived back at where Egon and Ray were still fussing over the molecular amplifier, making final adjustments. Finally, Egon stood back and nodded. "That's it." He turned around to look at Ray and Winston. "You have your bracelets?"

Ray and Winston both nodded in the affirmative and Winston asked, "And you've got the extra?"

Spengler patted the breast pocket of his uniform. "Right here."

"Extra bracelet?" Janine repeated. "What for?"

"Neeson," the physicist retorted shortly.

Winston explained in a low voice, "Neeson can only go back and forth between our world and the Netherworld because of A'nuit. Once we trap him, the only way we'll be able to get Neeson back here is with one of those homing bracelets."

"You ought'a just leave him there," Janine said grimly. Then abruptly she turned to Winston and gave him a hard hug. "Look after those two," she whispered.

"You know it," he promised, returning the embrace.

Ray was next. She gave him a fierce hug and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "You be careful, Ray Stantz," she warned him, "or you'll answer to me."

By the time she turned to Egon her eyes were shining with tears. As she clung to him, her face pressed tight against his chest, the physicist gave Winston a helpless look. "Janine, we have to go now," he said gently, giving her an awkward pat on the shoulder.

She nodded and stepped back, lifting her chin. "You guys get that demon," she told them in a carefully steady voice. "And find Neeson. And then you get your butts back here in one piece, you got that?"

Winston gave her the thumbs-up sign. "We got it."

"The machine is preset," Egon told her, picking up the destabilizer and taking his place between Ray and Winston. "Just press the red button."

Janine paused just long enough to let her gaze briefly touch each one of them, bringing it to rest finally on Egon, then pressed the button. "Good luck," she whispered, and watched as they disappeared.

*****

One minute they were standing in the middle of Central Park, the next they were enveloped by desolation. Winston shivered as much from the dank coolness as from the depressing effect of their bleak surroundings. Before the slight tingling sensation of the transfer had faded, however, he had his thrower in his hands, his eyes darting around for signs of trouble. Ray, likewise, had unshipped his thrower and was looking around warily. There was no sign of the eagerness the occultist usually displayed on dangerous busts; rather his youthful face was closed and grim as he scanned the area. Winston was glad Stantz didn't seem likely to bound headfirst into danger, but he hoped Ray hadn't lost that spark of optimistic enthusiasm that was as much a part of him as his quick, bright mind.

Egon was turning in a slow circle, the destabilizer hanging by a strap on his shoulder, concentrating on the PKE meter in his hands. Winston and Ray watched for a few moments in impatient silence before Ray asked, "Anything?"

The physicist looked up, disappointment in his eyes. "No reading of A'nuit."

"You mean he's not here?" Zeddemore asked, lowering his thrower.

Spengler shook his head. "Not within our scanning range," he elaborated. "He could be in some other world at or merely out of the range of our equipment."

"So we start looking," Winston muttered, frowning at the sound of a shrill shriek somewhere in the distance. "That machine's set to yank us back in an hour."

"If it isn't enough time, then we shall return," Egon said shortly. "And we'll keep returning until we find him." He began fiddling with the dials on the PKE meter. "In the meantime, I'll filter out our readings and set the meter to scan for another human. If Neeson's here it shouldn't be hard to--" Suddenly Spengler broke off in a strangled gasp, his face going dead white.

Ray rushed to his side, grabbing his arm to steady him and trying to get a look at the read-out on the meter. "Egon, what is it? What did you--" Ray broke off, too, his eyes flying to Egon's face. "It can't be," he whispered. "Egon, that's--that's--"

Winston strode up in front of them, grabbed each one by an arm and gave them both a sharp shake. "Will someone tell me what the hell is going on? Did you find Neeson?"

Egon shook his head numbly, his eyes still on the meter. He tried to clear his throat, then in a hoarse voice said, "I'm picking up Peter's biorhythms."

It took a moment for that to sink in and when it did Winston tightened his grip on the scientists' arms. "Would you get that reading," he asked carefully, "if Neeson had brought Peter's body here?"

Spengler looked up, wild hope flaring in his eyes. "No," he said definitely. "Only if he were alive."

"Oh my lord."

Ray turned away, breaking out of Winston's grasp. "Peter!" he screamed. "Peter, where are you?"

Egon made a hasty adjustment to the meter with shaking hands, then jutted his chin directly in front of him. "That way!"

They ran in the direction the physicist indicated, following the faint readings on the PKE meter.

*****

Peter came awake with a gasp, his body trembling with reaction to yet another terrifying nightmare. Or had it been a nightmare? It was getting harder and harder to tell reality from dreams. He looked around fearfully, remembering how more than once he had awakened to find red or yellow eyes glowing in the dark, watching him. The memory sent his heart into fresh palpitations and he squeezed his eyes shut, pulling the blankets a little tighter around himself as his body continued to shake. It wasn't just the cold; it was the constant fear of being in this place, the fear that A'nuit would finally come for him or at the very least send some minions to play with him. It was the fear he would be trapped forever.

"Peter! Peter, where are you?"

His eyes snapped open at the sound of familiar voices and he immediately raised his head for a glimpse of the portal, expecting to see the images of his friends there. The views into his world had become more sporadic than ever and he searched eagerly for some sign of Egon, Ray, and Winston. But the portal was blank. His head fell back onto the mattress in new despair. Now I'm hallucinating. How much longer will it be until I go completely around the bend?

"Peter! Peter, answer me!"

Peter shot upright. That was no hallucination. That was Egon. The physicist's voice was joined by Ray's and Winston's as they all shouted his name. They had found him. They knew he was alive. They were here.

"Egon! Ray! Winston! I'm in here!" Throwing the thin covers aside, he scrambled to his feet and ran for the doorway just as the three Ghostbusters came pounding into view. With a cry of joy he ran toward them, thinking of nothing but reaching his friends and safety. He didn't remember the force field until it was too late. Bolts of electrical energy attacked him from all sides, freezing him in a web of agony. Through the waves of pain he could dimly hear shouting and the sizzle of a proton rifle. Then he heard and saw nothing.

When he became aware again, he discovered he was sitting down, propped up against a warm chest and fingers were gently tapping his stubbled cheek.

"Peter? Peter, can you hear me? It's Egon. Please try to open your eyes."

The sound of Egon's near-frantic voice penetrated the haze that had fogged his mind and he forced his eyelids open to find himself gazing blurrily into a very familiar, but very worried, face. "You found me," he managed, his words coming out only slightly slurred.

The hand on his cheek pressed his head against a shaking chest. "Yes, Peter," Egon whispered, his voice threatening to break completely, "we found you."

"Oh, Peter, you're alive!"

Egon finger-combed the lank hair out of his eyes, then released him so he could turn his head. Ray was kneeling anxiously by his side, squeezing his hand in a tight grip. "More or less," he said with a weak smile. "You okay, Tex?"

At that, Ray's face crumpled and he surged forward, throwing his arms around Peter. His own arms still weren't cooperating too well, but Venkman managed to work one around Ray's back in a weak hug.

"It's okay, Ray. It's okay," he murmured, raising his hand to tangle his fingers in Ray's hair and give it a gentle tug.

Tears were streaming unchecked down the engineer's face, but he nodded, his head buried in Peter's shoulder. "I know. I'm just so happy you're alive."

Peter's eyes traveled up and locked with Egon's, who had given up any attempt to control the tears trailing down his cheeks. It scared him sometimes to realize how much he was loved. "Yeah," he said softly, "me too."

"Welcome back, homeboy."

Ray loosened his grip and pulled back enough for Peter to see Winston kneeling in front of him. "Hey, Zed," he grinned tiredly and lifted a hand for Zeddemore to grip.

The black man did so, then reached out and laid a hand on the side of Peter's neck, squeezing gently. "You must have more lives than a cat." His dark eyes searched Peter's face for a long moment, then he asked quietly, "What'd he do to you, Pete?"

Choosing not to answer the question Winston had really asked, he said, "You guys know Geoffrey Neeson is behind this?" All three nodded, their faces grim. "He used some kind of voodoo mumbo jumbo to make it look like I was dead, then somehow transported me here." He stirred, trying to pull himself up. "He keeps coming back. I don't know where he is now, but we've got to--"

"The first thing we've got to do," Egon interrupted firmly, his grip effectively keeping Peter right where he was, "is get you back home. The rest of us will deal with Neeson."

"Like hell you will. He's mine and don't any of you forget it." With a grunt he did manage to pull himself all the way upright although Egon kept an arm around his back for support. He took several quick breaths as the sudden change in elevation momentarily dimmed his vision, but waved away his friends' anxious queries. "Just give me a minute. That electrical force field thing knocked me for a loop."

"It won't be knocking anybody again," Zeddemore said flatly, hefting his thrower. "It's fried."

Egon was frowning in concern as he grasped Peter's chin and gently tilted his face around to study it. "We need to get you to a doctor," he declared. "We don't know what damage that electrical charge might have done to you, or what problems prolonged exposure in this dimension might have caused."

"All that shot of electricity did to me was make me mad," Venkman grunted. "And the only problem this 'prolonged exposure' caused was to make me cold. Besides..." He pulled Egon's hand away and gave it a pat. "If you used the molecular amplifier to get here, we can't go back until it pulls us back, right? Not unless you figured out a way to rig some sort of remote control from this dimension to the next."

"That's true," Egon agreed reluctantly. "But--"

"And I hope you remembered my bracelet because I sure don't want to spend the rest of my life here as demon food."

Egon had the strangest expression on his face as he slowly pulled the homing bracelet out of his breast pocket. "We didn't know you were alive," he explained, the strain in his voice evident. "We brought this so we could take Neeson back to face justice." With an air of great satisfaction he clipped the bracelet around Peter's wrist and sat back. "There. I suppose Neeson will just have to face his justice here."

"I'll give him justice," Peter said softly, fingering the electronic device that would return him to his own world. "All I ask is that you guys stay out of my way when I do." He looked up suddenly. "How much time do we have left?"

Ray consulted his watch. "Thirty-three minutes."

Peter nodded. "Okay. A'nuit hasn't shown up yet but--"

There was a bright flash of light and a thunderous roar that nearly deafened them. "A'nuit," a raspy voice announced, "is here."

"Holy shit," Winston muttered, and clambered to his feet, his proton rifle in his hands.

While Peter's eyes were still trying to readjust to the dark after that flash of light he found himself hauled to his feet and pushed to the rear as the others took up a stance in front of him. Ray and Winston were wielding throwers while Egon had the destabilizer in his hands. "Give me that thing," he demanded, grabbing for Egon's arm. "You guys can't hold him with just two throwers."

"Stay out of the way, Peter," Spengler ordered tensely, not taking his eyes off the demon. "You're in no condition for this kind of a fight."

"So, Ghostbusters, you save me the trouble of hunting you." A'nuit looked at them with glowing, hungry eyes. "Too bad," he said in his snake-like hiss. "Still, I will enjoy this." He pointed one clawed finger at Peter. "But you I will still keep for last."

"Now!" Winston barked, and he and Ray each shot a stream of protons at the entity.

From the level of energy crackling in the room, Peter knew both throwers were set on maximum, and he also knew the power drain on the packs was incredible; they wouldn't be able to maintain the streams for long. Already A'nuit was straining against the hold of the beams, inching closer to them, his talons flashing as he slashed the air in front of him.

"Egon, give me the damned destabilizer!" Peter shouted. "You can't hold him with just two throwers!"

Spengler hesitated only an instant before turning and pressing the weapon into Peter's waiting hands. "I've boosted the power," he explained quickly, then turned back and drew his own thrower just as the demon broke free from the other two streams. Egon's beam hit A'nuit high in the chest, stopping his progress long enough for Ray and Winston to add theirs. A'nuit roared in anger and frustration as he fought the sizzling prison that surrounded him. With a mighty effort, he lunged at Ray, who was closest, his talons aiming for the engineer's face.

At that moment Peter activated the destabilizer. "Take that, you sonofabitch." Egon had warned him he'd 'boosted the power' but Peter wasn't prepared for the recoil that knocked him onto his butt on the floor. Still he held on to the weapon, keeping the bursts of energy aimed directly at A'nuit's huge, scaled chest. The demon froze under the onslaught, his howls becoming more anguished as the outline of his body became fainter under the assault of the destabilizing beam.

Just when Peter didn't think he could hold on to the weapon a second longer, Egon ordered, "Trap, Winston."

The black man smoothly threw out the readied trap and jammed a boot down onto the pedal. A cone of brilliant light shot out from the open trap, filling the dark room and engulfing the struggling demon. Peter could see from the gauge on the back of Egon's pack that the physicist was down to a quarter charge remaining and that meant Ray and Winston's packs were even lower. If they didn't get A'nuit trapped soon...

Nearly translucent, the demon gave one final shriek of fury and disappeared into the trap. The doors snapped shut and the Ghostbusters were left in silence. Peter felt the destabilizer gun slip from his fingers as he slumped in exhausted relief. A moment later all three of his friends were kneeling around him, Egon and Ray positioning themselves to support him. "Did we win?" he mumbled.

Egon slipped two fingers under his jawline to check his pulse. "Yes, Peter," he said gently. "We won."

"I'm okay, Egon," he tried to reassure the older man. "Just real tired."

Ray draped one of the blankets around his shoulders. "We'll be home soon, Peter."

"Home," he repeated dreamily. "I like the sound of that."

"We all do," Winston agreed. "And then--" He broke off to look sharply toward the doorway, then without a word sprang to his feet and raced from the room.

Ray got halfway to his feet to follow. "What was that all about? Winston?"

A few moments later Zeddemore was back, a grim, triumphant smile on his face as he dragged a struggling Geoffrey Neeson into the room. "Look what piece of slime I found hanging around outside."

The sight of the British occultist sent a fresh wave of fury through Peter, replacing his exhaustion with a surge of adrenaline. With a growl, he shot to his feet, throwing aside the blanket and tearing out of Egon's quick grab. "Back off," he snarled. "He's mine." Winston didn't resist as Venkman grabbed the Englishman by the lapels of his expensive jacket and flung him up against the wall. His face only inches from the terrified Neeson's, Venkman hissed, "I warned you, Neeson. You're a dead man." Blood was pounding in his ears and rage was the only thing he felt as he wrapped his hands around the occultist's throat and squeezed. "For what you did to me...for what you did to my friends..."

"Peter, no!" Ray wrapped an arm around his chest and tried to pry him away from Neeson. "You can't!" But Ray's shouts and the restraining arm around his chest had no effect.

It was Egon who managed to squeeze an arm in between Venkman and his prey, gripping Peter's hands where they were locked like a vise around Neeson's neck. "Peter, he's not worth it," he said sharply.

Neeson was starting to wheeze for breath, his lips turning blue. Still Peter squeezed. His vision clouded by tears of anger, Peter grated, "Egon, for what he did to me--for what he did to you and Ray and--"

"He'll pay for what he did to you, Peter. He'll pay for what he did to all of us." Egon transferred his grip to Peter's shoulders. "I promise. You believe me, don't you? You know I wouldn't lie to you."

Spengler's calm, persuasive voice was starting to penetrate the fog of rage that had enveloped him and Peter began to slowly relax his grip around Neeson's neck. "He can't pay," he objected, his voice trembling with fatigue and anger, but showing the first sign of vacillation. "Nothing will ever be enough."

Keeping one hand on Peter's shoulder, the physicist gripped his chin, turning the psychologist's head so Peter was forced to meet his gaze. "Remember what I said earlier, Peter: He'll face his justice here. He could only travel between our world and this while A'nuit was free. He no longer has that option." He paused to brush a tear slowly trailing down Peter's face with his thumb, explaining carefully, "He can't go back unless we take him back."

Peter's lax hands fell away from Neeson and he felt his body begin to shake from sudden reaction. Released from Venkman's grip, Neeson slid bonelessly to the floor, gasping for breath. "You mean...he's trapped here? He can't go home?"

Egon nodded gravely. "That's right, Peter, he can't go home."

"What?" Neeson's panicked shout came out as a hoarse croak. "You can't leave me here! Spengler, you can't! You can't!"

The blond man turned a cold gaze on the cowering Englishman. "You came here of your own free will, Neeson, but you may have a bit of trouble leaving."

Winston stepped forward and touched Egon on the arm, not sparing Neeson so much as a glance. "Almost time, Egon," he said quietly.

Spengler nodded and looked back at Peter. "We're going home now, Peter," he said gently, easing an arm around the younger man's shoulders. "It's over."

Venkman stared at his friend, trying to register those words in a mind that was almost too fatigued to understand. "It's over."

Egon nodded solemnly and turned him away from Neeson. Peter felt Ray's arm encircle his waist from the other side and together his friends led him away. He was shaking so hard if they hadn't been holding onto him he probably would have collapsed. As they were walking out the doorway, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder at the Englishman. Neeson's arms were curled tightly around his chest and he was repeating numbly, "You can't leave me here, you can't leave me here, you can't leave me here..."

"Eternity can be a very long time, Neeson," he said impassively, then turned back and let his friends lead him away.

Apparently all they had wanted to do was get him away from Neeson because once they were out of sight of the Englishman they stopped as Winston counted down the seconds to retrieval. Looking at the worried faces surrounding him, Peter joked weakly, "I feel like Dorothy in Oz, and if I click my heels together three times..." The Netherworld disappeared and in the next heartbeat he found himself standing in the middle of Egon's lab on the third floor of the firehall. He blinked at the sudden onslaught of light, but let his eyes feast on the familiar surroundings. "There's no place like home," he finished, not bothering to try to hide the tremor in his voice.

That set off another reunion. Ray grabbed him and gave him a hug that made his ribs creak. Egon's was no less enthusiastic. And Winston went one better by mussing his already disheveled hair.

As Peter was enduring yet another welcome-back embrace from Ray, he heard running footsteps and looked up as Janine raced into the room. "You're back! Did you get him, did you--" The secretary broke off when she saw Peter, her hands flying to her mouth. "Oh, my gosh." She stared at him in disbelief, then slowly walked toward him, her eyes never leaving his face. "Doctor V? Peter?"

Venkman held out his arms. "I'd say something really clever like, 'the reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated' but I understand another clever person said it first--"

That was all he had a chance to say because Janine flung herself at him and squeezed the rest of the breath out of his lungs. "Don't you ever scare me like that again," she sniffled in his ear, giving him a little shake for emphasis.

"Believe me, I don't plan to."

She pulled back, quickly wiping her eyes, and opened her mouth to say something, but instead sniffed and wrinkled her nose.

Venkman grinned apologetically. "Yeah, I guess I am pretty ripe."

"And cold," she observed, touching his hand. "You can tell me all about it later," she said briskly, turning away and heading for the door. "Right now I'm making you something hot to drink and if you have any sense you'll take a hot bath and get into some warm clothes before you catch cold." As she reached the door, she paused and turned back, her voice softening, "Welcome back, Doctor V." Then she disappeared.

"She's right about that bath, Peter," Egon told him. "And I still want you to see a doctor--"

"Peee-trrr!"

Peter didn't stand a chance. The green blob that streaked into the room plastered itself against his neck and wouldn't let go. "Hello, Slimer," he sighed. He looked around at the grinning faces surrounding him. "That bath is sounding better all the time."

As he left the lab, he paused to grab a trash bag from the stash by the door before disappearing into the bathroom. A few minutes later he came back out, a towel wrapped around his middle and the filled trash bag in his hands. Winston, who was closest, accepted the bag as Peter handed it to him. "Do me a favor, will you, Winston?"

"Sure, Pete."

Venkman's voice was hard. "Burn that."

"You got it."

With a nod of thanks, Peter stepped back into the bathroom and closed the door.

It was nearly an hour later when he opened it again. He had opted for a shower instead of a bath mainly because of a psychological need to feel the hot water pounding his body to wash away the stink of the Netherworld. The shower, along with a shave and shampoo, had done wonders for his physical comfort, and when he stepped out into the bedroom to pull on a set of warm sweats he found his bed already turned down and his three friends waiting for him. He dropped onto the bed with a sigh and Ray immediately pressed a cup of hot tea into his hands.

"Janine said you're supposed to drink this. It's some herbal tea Mrs. Spengler left in case of colds. You sound like you might be coming down with one."

"And I've called Dr. Michaels," Egon announced, silencing Peter with a stern look when he opened his mouth to protest. "He said unless you're running a fever or have any discomfort right now, we should let you rest. But he wants to do a complete physical on you tomorrow afternoon and if you begin to experience any symptoms before then, we are to call him immediately."

Peter took a sip of the hot tea, trying not to gag at the taste. Mrs. Spengler apparently didn't need a blender to inflict her 'remedies.' When he surreptitiously tried to set the nearly full cup on the stand by his bed, Ray said, "You're supposed to drink all of it."

Forcing himself to take another drink, he shot a dark look at Winston, who was grinning like a fool. "Well, don't you have anything to add?"

Zeddemore shrugged. "Nope, not me. I think the brain trust here has everything under control."

Ray patted him on the arm. "We're going to go and let you rest now, Peter--"

"No!" As soon as he said it Venkman knew from the expressions on his friends' faces that his protest had come too quickly. He tried to cover it up with a casual shrug. "I mean, I'm tired, but there's no way I can sleep right now, not with so many questions. I'd just like to talk about what happened, that's all."

Egon's face was thoughtful, but he sat down on the edge of his bed across from Peter, and Ray did the same. Winston, who had been standing near the foot of his bed, leaned against the wooden poster. "All right, Peter," Egon agreed. "I admit I have many questions I'd like answers to and I'm sure you do, too. We can discuss it for a time, but you are going to rest."

"Yeah, man," Winston added. "You look as though you haven't slept in a week."

"Hey, how good can a man look who's just come back from the dead?" Peter asked lightly. But the attempt at humor fell flat and when he saw the look on Ray's face, he bit his lip. "Sorry, Ray."

Almost immediately the engineer's face brightened. "That's okay. I kind of missed your warped sense of humor."

Venkman made a face at him.

"Would you like me to start, Peter?" Egon offered.

Peter fingered the cup in his hands, then said, "I think maybe I'd better start." Sitting cross-legged on his bed, his eyes fixed on a spot in the middle of the wooden footboard of his bed, Peter told them about what had happened to him from the time he first became aware in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. For the most part the others listened in silence, Egon interrupting only occasionally to ask a question to clear up some detail. "And then I heard you guys shouting for me and I realized it was for real and not some hallucination...and the rest you know." Only when he was finished did he look up to see their faces. Winston's face was almost expressionless, only the deep anger in his eyes testifying to his rage. Ray's face was far from expressionless, the pain and sympathy he was feeling displayed there for anyone to see. There was pain and sympathy in Egon's eyes, too, but there were other emotions there as well as the physicist let his gaze rest on Peter's face.

Breaking the silence, Egon leaned forward and laid a hand on the psychologist's arm, his voice stretched thin with strain. "It must have been terrible for you. If I had only realized sooner what was really going on--"

"I'd say you got there in the nick of time, Egon, and if I'd've had to depend on anybody but you guys I'd pretty much be demon food right now." Levelling a stern gaze at the physicist, he said, "So if you try to apologize to me for not being any more of a genius than you already are, I'm going to have to hurt you."

That coaxed a half-hearted smile out of the blond man and he sat back.

"So you could see and hear us while you were there?" Ray asked. "You knew what was going on?"

"Only sometimes and in bits and pieces. I don't know if A'nuit was controlling it or whether it just came on at intervals. I sure didn't see the part where you figured out it was Neeson behind it all. How did you do that, anyhow?"

When Ray and Winston looked at Egon, he drew a bolstering breath, then told their part of the story. Peter drank the tea as he listened, noting the taste hadn't improved any as it cooled. He hadn't told the guys everything about his stay in A'nuit's realm; there was no point in dwelling on his fear and the sense of overwhelming hopelessness he had felt there. As for Egon's narrative, Peter noticed he mentioned the memorial service, but passed over any details, and he never explained what they were doing at the hospital the morning after their encounter with A'nuit in the park. Since Egon didn't mention it he wasn't going to push the issue, but he made a mental note to approach Winston about it later. A sudden thought occurred to him and his head shot up. "Dad!"

"I called the South African Embassy while you were taking a bath," Egon said quickly. "They had no word as to whether the first message had ever gotten through to him but they promised to do everything they could to get in touch with him to let him know you were okay."

He heaved a heavy sigh. "Shit," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "I hope he's not out there in the middle of nowhere thinking I'm dead."

Ray said, "Try not to worry about it, Peter. If he had gotten the first message he probably would've tried to call us, and Janine hasn't gotten any calls. It could be they never got through to him in the first place."

"I hope not," Peter replied around a large yawn.

"And now I think that's quite enough talk." Egon got to his feet and rescued the cup that was about to fall from Venkman's lax fingers. "You need to rest, Peter. We'll all be close by if you need anything."

"Got everything I need right here," Peter said with a sleepy smile as Ray and Egon fussed with the covers. He endured one more fever check from Egon, then settled down onto his pillow as they lowered the window shades and left the room. After only a few seconds his eyes flew open and he ran a hand over the side of his face, recognizing the distinctive feel of slime. With a sigh, he turned his pillow over. "Yep," he murmured, burying his face in the clean side of the pillow case, "there's no place like home."

*****

Ray lay awake in the darkness listening to the sound of Peter's sudden ragged breathing. The pattern had repeated itself all night. Peter would fall asleep for maybe an hour, then he would jerk awake with a gasp and lie there panting for breath as if recovering from some scare.

Peter had seemed to sleep fine for a few hours when they first got him home, then had gotten out of bed, claiming hunger. So they had fed him a good, hot meal but when they insisted he go back to bed, he opted for the couch instead. They'd all stayed with him in the TV room until it was time to turn in, and ever since then Peter had been fitfully tossing and turning, not getting more than an hour's sleep at a time. He had to be exhausted; one look at him was all it took to realize he was badly fatigued, but he couldn't seem to get any rest.

There was the sound of a heavy sigh, then Peter stirred, threw his covers aside and got to his feet. After a moment spent fumbling for his slippers, he snagged the topmost blanket, draped it around his shoulders and, clutching it tightly around him, left the room.

Ray laid in bed for a few moments, then tossed his own covers aside and got up. As he crossed the room he thought he heard a sound from Egon's bed, but when he looked back, the physicist appeared to be asleep.

It didn't take long to locate Peter. The light was on in the TV room and the TV was on, although the sound was turned down too low to be heard from upstairs. Padding across the room, Ray stopped by the side of the sofa and looked at his friend. The psychologist was hunched over, head in his hands, not moving. Not wanting to startle him, Ray called out softly, "Peter?"

Venkman's head shot up and he managed a wan smile as Ray sank down beside him. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't." Stantz indicated the blanket Peter was still clutching. "You still cold?"

"A little."

"Want me to make you some more tea?"

"Not on your life."

Ray grinned. "That bad, huh?"

"Mrs. Spengler is a super lady and she's got a great heart. But sometimes her cures are worse than whatever's ailing you."

Ray had to agree that many times that was the case. "You haven't been sleeping very well," he observed casually. "Are you feeling okay?"

Peter flicked a glance at him before looking away. "My internal time clock got all screwed up in that place. I didn't know if it was day or night. I guess it'll take me a while to get back on track."

"Hmm." Stantz was silent for a few moments, then slid an arm around the older man's shoulders and said, "I don't think that's all of it. It's not that you're not sleeping--it's like you're waking yourself up every couple of hours. Peter, this isn't insomnia; you're so exhausted you should be down for the count, but you're not." He tightened his arm around the slumped shoulders. "You want to tell me about it?"

Peter looked at him for a moment, then gave a short, sad laugh. "God, I missed you." Then he looked away again, staring at the TV. "Okay, pard, you got me. It's a little more than just my screwed-up internal clock."

"So," Ray prompted, "why don't you tell me about it? Maybe I can help."

"The only thing that's gonna help is time. I just need...time." Dropping his head, Peter pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. "I was scared all the time in that place, Ray. Terrified. And you're right--I am waking myself up. I'm waking myself up because I'm still too scared to let myself sleep. I knew A'nuit would be coming for me and every sound I heard, every bump in the night, I was sure it was him. I knew he was going to be going after you guys, too, and I was scared to death I'd see him murder you one by one in that damned window of his." Ray felt him shiver under his touch. "And I was afraid I was going to be trapped there forever, alone."

Stantz leaned over, pulling the older man tight against him. "But you're safe now," he reminded him gently. "It's over, Peter, and you're safe."

"Hasn't sunk in yet." Venkman's body trembled as he heaved a sigh. "I knew you guys thought I was dead, so I knew there wouldn't be any rescue." He dropped his hands and looked at Ray, his eyes stark with the remnants of despair. "He took my hope away, Ray, and nobody's ever been able to do that to me before."

Ray felt his eyes prickle with tears at the utter despondency in his friend's tone. "You're safe, Peter," he whispered fiercely. "You're safe. Just keep remembering that."

Peter returned the embrace fervently, pressing the side of his head against Ray's as if trying to gain reassurance from the engineer's presence. "I know, buddy. I'm working on it. Just be patient with me, okay?"

That drew a soft snort from Ray. "Peter, you idiot." He drew back, looking into the psychologist's puzzled face. "How many times have I gone through a bad time? Or Egon or Winston? And you were there for us helping us through it, no matter how long it took." He gave the older man a gentle shake. "Did you really think we'd be any less patient with you? Peter, we got you back--do you have any idea what a miracle that is for us?--and now we just want you to be okay. We'll all understand if it takes a while, but you have to know that we're going to be here with you every step of the way." He paused and gazed directly into the other man's eyes. "Because we love you."

A slow smile started on Peter's lips and soon spread to his eyes. "I love you too, kiddo."

Ray accepted that with a matching smile, then cocked his head and studied the psychologist's exhaustion-lined face. "Would you like to stay down here for a while? We could watch TV until you fall asleep, and I'd stay with you the whole time."

Venkman ran a hand through his hair. "I feel like a kid who needs a night light," he muttered.

Ray patted his arm. "Patience, remember? Works both ways. You've got to be patient with yourself, too."

Peter looked at him with frank admiration. "When did you get to be so smart, Stantz?"

Ray grinned at the compliment and settled back on the sofa, gesturing for Peter to do the same. After only a brief hesitation, Peter did so, wrapping the blanket around himself and snuggling down into the corner. Ray retrieved the remote from the coffee table, nudged the sound up a little on the TV, and settled in for the night. For some reason Nick at Nite was running a marathon of Green Acres and, while he found the show agreeable, he was willing to bet Peter wouldn't make it past the second episode.

A rustling noise from behind made him turn in time to see a flash of white--like a nightshirt--disappear from the top of the metal staircase. While he was puzzling over that, the sound of a soft snore brought his head back around and he found that Peter had already fallen asleep.

*****

Peter Venkman wandered around the nearly-empty firehall in the thrall of abject misery. He had been back from the Netherworld for a week and the little congestion Stan Michaels had diagnosed had blossomed into a full-blown upper respiratory infection despite the antibiotics the good doctor had foisted on him. The blood tests had all come back negative, so the good news was a nasty chest cold was the worst thing he had brought back from his sojourn in A'nuit's world. The bad news was he felt like crap and was confined to the firehall while the guys went on busts. The increased dosage of antibiotics Michaels put him on made him listless while the decongestant and cough syrup made him hyper; the end result was a body that didn't know if it wanted to sleep or skip rope.

In fact, the only good thing that had happened in the last week was that his dad called from South Africa to find out why he had gotten an urgent message that Peter was alive and well. It turned out he had never received the first message at all, so Peter's concerns that his father was alone in some wilderness agonizing over his son's death proved to be groundless.

Heading downstairs from the bathroom after dosing himself with more medicine, he meandered over to Janine's desk where the secretary was busy working on the month-end invoices. She looked up warily as he approached, but said nothing, returning her attention to the paperwork. If she thought he was going away just because she ignored him, she was wrong.

"How's it goin', Janine?"

Pushing her glasses up on her nose with one manicured finger, she gave him a look that was part annoyance and part concern. "Peter, you sound terrible. I thought you were supposed to be in bed."

He made a sound of disgust. "Can't breathe when I lay down. Is that the bill for the Chrysler Building bust?" he asked, trying to read upside down. "Did Ray remember to add on for that PKE meter we lost because one of the security guards--"

"Dr. Venkman," Janine interrupted sternly. "Do you mind? I know my job. And, yes, Ray remembered to bill them for the PKE meter. Now will you please go do something--anything--else?"

"Nothing else to do," he grumbled, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his robe. "I can't go on busts--"

"Well, of course you can't," said the secretary reasonably. "You don't want pneumonia, do you? Why don't you go heat up some of that chicken soup Winston's mom made for you?"

"Can't taste it anyway," he muttered, feeling more put-upon by the minute. "Can't taste anything. Might as well eat arsenic for all anyone cares around here."

The sound of a hand slamming down on a desk brought his head up in surprise. "All right, that's it." Getting to her feet, Janine came around the desk, eyes flashing with anger. "That's just about the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say--and I've heard you say plenty of stupid things. Those guys are worried sick about you. Egon still isn't convinced you're not going to develop some kind of complication because of all the time you spent in that awful place. They won't take any night calls because they don't want to leave you alone, and the only reason they're taking busts at all--besides the fact the business needs the money, which you should know better than anyone--is that I'm here to look after you. And when they thought you were dead--" Her lips compressing in displeasure, she stopped in front of him and poked a finger against his chest. "Just don't let me ever hear you say nobody around here cares about you, Peter Venkman, or you'll answer to me, got it?"

Peter looked down into her blazing eyes and shrugged helplessly. "I didn't really mean..."

Janine considered him for a moment, then shook her head. "No, I guess you didn't." Reaching out suddenly, she laid a hand against his forehead. "You've got a fever," she observed. "You need to be in bed."

"Don't wanna go to bed," he objected, realizing he sounded ten years old. "I want to be up when the guys get back." He checked his watch for about the tenth time in the last half hour. "Shouldn't they be back by now?"

"The bust was clear on the other side of town," Janine reminded him.

"Yeah, but something could have happened--"

"It was a couple of class twos, nothing they can't handle." Taking his arm, she led him toward the stairs. "Tell you what, why don't you go wait on the couch and I'll warm up that chicken soup. You may not be able to taste it, but it's still good for you."

*****

"You okay now?"

Settled on the sofa, Peter swallowed a spoonful of soup and managed not to grimace. He knew Winston's mom made a mean chicken soup, but with his cold everything tasted like cardboard. "Yeah, fine. Thanks."

"No problem. I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

As the secretary started to leave, he said hesitantly, "Janine?" When she turned back, he asked slowly, "Have you noticed anything... different about Egon lately?"

The mention of Egon brought a new sharpness to her eyes. "What do you mean, 'different'?"

"Just, different. In the way he's been acting."

When she hesitated a bit too long before answering, he concluded, "You have noticed, haven't you?"

The redhead walked back to the sofa, answering carefully, "He's been a little preoccupied."

"Preoccupied. Yeah, I guess that's one word for it." But preoccupation wouldn't explain why Egon studiously avoided spending any time alone with him; why the physicist barely spoke to him other than to politely inquire about his health; why for the first time since he'd known him, Egon wasn't playing mother hen when he was sick.

"Peter, what are you getting at?"

Venkman stared into his bowl of soup for a moment, then shook his head. "Nothing, Janine, forget it. Thanks for the soup."

The secretary walked to the doorway, then stopped and turned back. "He loves you, Peter. When he thought you'd been killed...I've never seen a man so lost. You have no idea what he put himself through over that autopsy--" When his head shot up, she broke off and bit her lip. "I don't think you're supposed to know about that."

"I think I am," he said in his best I'm-the-one-who-signs-your-paycheck voice.

It took more than that, but eventually he got the whole story out of her. As he sank back into the cushions considering all he'd learned, she said softly, "Thinking you were dead...it was real hard on him, Peter. Maybe he's just scared."

Pulled out of his thoughts, he echoed, "Scared?"

Her eyes locked with his. "Scared that the next time it'll be real. If it were you, do you think you could go through something like that a second time?" With that, she disappeared from the doorway, leaving Peter with his thoughts.

His thoughts kept him awake for the next hour, churning in his mind the way his medication was churning in his stomach. In the week he'd been back, he'd had time to study the reactions of his three friends. Winston was Winston. Peter couldn't help but feel his admiration for that man rise another notch as he watched how Zeddemore moved through their lives. He knew Winston would have offered all his strength and support during those days following the incident at Central Park, and he was giving that same support now simply by carrying on and keeping things as normal as possible. Everyone should have at least one Winston in their lives, he mused, and it had been a lucky day for them when Zeddemore walked into theirs.

Turning his thoughts to Ray brought a fond smile to his lips. Ray rarely left his side these days, but he was convinced that was more because of his illness than any residual after-effects Stantz might be feeling from the emotional roller-coaster he'd been riding. Ray accepted his return from the dead as a wonderful miracle to rejoice in and be thankful for, and Peter was gratified to see the spark of enthusiasm in his eyes he had always exhibited when greeting each new day. Ray had already put the past behind him and his chief concern had been helping Peter get back on his feet.

But Egon... Peter's smile faded as his thoughts rested on the man who was his oldest and best friend. He had recognized the signs of distancing in Egon after his return, but had hoped it was only a temporary reaction to an extreme and incredible situation. Hearing what he had heard, seeing what he had seen while a captive in A'nuit's world, had only reinforced his belief in Egon's love for him. Even now, the words of Egon's eulogy came back to him as clearly as if his friend were standing there before him, reciting them again.

Peter not only touched my life, he shared it, enhanced it, changed it, brightened it, and on several occasions, saved it. It is often said that we get to choose our friends, but not our relatives. I was fortunate, because with Peter, I was able to choose both. He was not only my friend, my partner and my colleague, he became my brother as well, as I became his. A wistful smile had touched Egon's lips as he added softly, We both made that choice many, many years ago and I hope Peter never regretted it. I know I never did. It may have been the most important, and was certainly the finest, choice I ever made.

He felt his eyes burn as he remembered the pride and affection in Egon's tone when the physicist had spoken of their long friendship, and how how his deep voice had ached when he spoke of its loss. Egon had faced that loss, had grieved for it, raged against it, then finally accepted it and put it to rest. Any man, after facing the wrenching emotional upheaval Egon had, could be forgiven for taking a step back and asking himself if such love was worth the cost in pain. Any man could be forgiven for asking such a question, but Peter's fear was in Egon's answer. Maybe he's just scared... scared that the next time it'll be real. Could he blame Egon for that fear? If he had been the one left behind, could he so blithely put all that pain and anguish behind him knowing he might have to face it all over again, perhaps on the next bust?

Squeezing his eyes shut, Peter let his head drop back against the cushions. No, he couldn't blame Egon for that, but if that was the conclusion Egon had reached, then for Peter it was the same as losing him. Because if Egon withdrew from what made their friendship so exceptional--its intensity, honesty and strength based on a deeply-felt mutual love and respect--then they were left with only a partnership based on the mutual goal of maintaining a livelihood. That wasn't just a poor substitute, it was no substitute at all. It was the loss of something Peter couldn't bear to lose.

As the antibiotics won the battle with his body, Peter slid into an uneasy sleep, an aching feeling of need clawing at his soul.

*****

When he awoke, the half-finished bowl of soup had been cleared from the coffee table, replaced with a pitcher of ice water and a glass, his cough syrup, and a new box of tissues. As he sat up he also noticed a blanket had been draped over him and a piece of paper had been propped up against the glass. Picking it up, he grinned as he read Ray's scrawl on the work order for the earlier bust. The guys had obviously gotten back safe and sound and, unwilling to wake him, Ray had left this to let him know all was well.

His grin faded when he threw off the blanket and began coughing as the congestion in his chest decided to rearrange itself. Several minutes--and two teaspoons of cough syrup--later, he got to his feet and walked slowly around the room, easing the kinks out of his back. Because of his coughing spells, he'd taken to sleeping on the sofa so as to not disturb the others, but if he didn't get back to his own mattress soon he knew he was going to end up with a permanent knot in his back.

Memories of his earlier thoughts came drifting back to him like dark clouds and he walked over to the stairs, gazing up to the third floor. Without knowing why, he began going up, stopping every few steps to catch his breath, until he reached the top. The bedroom was dark, but when he saw the light shining out from under Egon's closed lab door he knew why he'd made the climb upstairs. Hesitating with his hand on the knob, he took a deep breath, regretted it instantly when it set off a coughing spell, then opened the door.

He had lost the element of surprise and Egon was turned around from his computer as he entered. "Peter. I thought you were asleep."

"I woke up."

The blond man looked at him a moment longer, then turned back to his keyboard, making some entries. "Do you need anything?"

"Yeah. I think I need to talk."

Egon's fingers froze on the keyboard. "It's a little late," he answered in a diffident tone. "And I've still got some work to do." His fingers began moving again and Peter could hear the click of the keys as he methodically resumed his typing. "Perhaps tomorrow."

Venkman's hand sought out the door frame and he braced himself in the doorway, staring at the back of the blond head. "This won't take long," he said in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. "Just tell me, Egon, is this the way it's going to be between us from now on?" He saw Spengler's spine stiffen, saw his head rise, but when no answer was forthcoming, he closed his eyes. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

*****

Is this the way it's going to be between us from now on? When the implications of that question sank in, Egon's fingers dropped onto the keyboard, sending a line of gibberish skittering across the computer screen. Whirling around, Peter's name died on his lips as he saw the doorway was empty. To his everlasting shame, at first all he felt was relief. But in the next instant all the doubt, guilt and confusion he had been wrestling with over the last week crashed into him like a stormy ocean wave. What the hell am I doing? He was trying to seal himself off, protect himself from any more pain, numb his emotions so he would never again suffer as he had suffered before; but by doing so he was in danger of losing the very thing that was so important to him. Why was he trying to protect himself against some possible future loss when that loss was facing him at this moment--because of his own actions?

Jumping to his feet, he shoved his chair back so fast it sped across the floor on its rollers as he raced for the door.

He didn't stop until he reached the base of the stairs in the TV room. There he hesitated, gazing into the dim interior where he could see Peter slumped on the sofa, hands pressed against his temples. Quashing the impulse to charge over, he walked in silently and sank down on the sofa beside the psychologist. Aside from a noticeable tensing of Venkman's muscles, Peter gave no acknowledgement of Egon's presence.

Keeping his eyes on his friend's tightly-set profile, Spengler said quietly, "To answer your question--"

Abruptly Venkman shook his head. "No, Egon, don't--"

"To answer your question," he repeated firmly, and leaned toward the younger man, sliding an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into a tight embrace. After an initial resistance, all the stiffness drained from the psychologist's body and he clung to Egon with a desperation that brought a burning to the back of Spengler's throat. A broken sigh escaped his lips as he remembered again how close he had come to losing this part of his life, and how it had ruined him to believe it had been gone. "I'm so very grateful you're alive, Peter," he whispered. "And so very grateful you've been returned to us. Don't ever believe otherwise, no matter how unforgivable my behavior has been." He could feel the warmth of Peter's skin, still too warm from fever, as Venkman pressed his face tight against Egon's neck.

"Egon, nothing you've done has been unforgivable." Tightening his arms in one last squeeze, the psychologist pulled back, gazing at him through eyes glittering with moisture. "And nothing you've felt has been unforgivable, either, so don't beat yourself up over it, okay?"

Egon instantly shook his head, refusing to accept the absolution. "You don't know what I felt, what I've been thinking."

"Let me take a stab at it," Venkman said gently, one hand resting on Egon's shoulder. "If it hurts that much to lose someone you love, then maybe it would be better not to love so much, especially if you run the risk of losing that person on a fairly regular basis."

Egon stared at him, seeing the understanding and ready forgiveness in his friend's eyes, and released a gusty sigh. "Serious lapse of judgment," he muttered.

Venkman blinked. "Lapse of judgment?"

"To occasionally forget the fact that you're a psychologist."

That drew a grin from the younger man, but it wasn't very convincing and it faded almost immediately. "It didn't take a Ph.D to figure out what you were going through," he said, releasing Spengler's shoulder and dropping back against the cushions of the sofa. There was a brief silence, then in a very quiet voice he said, "I think under the circumstances we should consider dissolving the business."

"Dissolve Ghostbusters?" Egon stared at him, his face blank with shock. "Peter, why?"

Venkman's eyes were filled with anguish. "Because I'd rather lose the business than you. And I can't stand by and watch what you're putting yourself through because of me." Turning his head so he was facing the blank TV instead of Egon, he said in a voice tight with strain, "After everything that's happened, if we can still save something between us, then I want it to be what we had. I don't want to lose that, Egon. I can't lose that."

His heart swelling with affection, Egon laid a hand on his friend's arm and gave it a squeeze. "You may be happy to learn that what we have," he said, emphasizing the word, "isn't that easy to set aside, despite all my best efforts."

That brought Peter's head around and a flash of hope to his eyes. "That is good to know." Then it faded as he searched Spengler's face. "But, are you sure? Egon, there's always going to be a risk--"

Egon's reply was to grasp the psychologist's shoulders and pull him around. "I've never been so certain of anything," he stated definitely, his tone leaving no doubt of his conviction. Yes, he was still afraid of the prospect of loss, and he knew that fear would be with him always, but he would not give in to it. "There is always risk in life," he continued, his voice softening. "But I would be a fool if I willingly chose to give up something I would gladly give my life to save." He heard Peter's breath catch and saw his eyes brighten with tears an instant before Venkman leaned forward and grabbed him in a fierce hug.

"I love you," Peter whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "It's about time you heard that."

Spengler smiled and his eyes slid shut in contentment as he returned the embrace. "I never doubted it for a minute," he murmured, basking in the warmth and affection that enveloped him, "as I hope you never doubted that I love you." When at length Peter's grip relaxed, he pulled back and studied the slightly flushed face of his friend. Frowning in concern, he pressed the back of his hand to Venkman's forehead. "Dr. Michaels said you were supposed to take ibuprofen if you developed a fever; have you been doing that?"

"Janine brought me some while she was still here, then I fell asleep."

"Then it's time for some more." Rising and going into the kitchen, Egon retrieved the bottle they always kept there and brought it back, dropping two capsules into the psychologist's palm. "You need to take these regularly if they're going to do any good. I'm going to give you two more every four hours for the rest of the night, and if your temperature isn't back to normal by morning I think Stan should take another look at you."

"It's just a chest cold, Egon," Peter objected, grimacing when one of the tablets got stuck in his throat.

"It's an acute upper respiratory infection," Spengler corrected, quoting Peter's doctor. "I'd prefer if it didn't turn into pneumonia. Have you been drinking plenty of fluids?"

Peter opened his mouth to reply, then suddenly dropped back against the cushions, chuckling.

"What's so funny?"

Grinning impishly, Peter said, "Nothing. Just suddenly realizing how much I'd missed you, that's all."

"Missed me? I've been--" Seeing Peter's pointed glance at his hands, he looked down to find the bottle of ibuprofen in one hand and a thermometer in the other. A reluctant grin tugged at his lips as he looked up at the psychologist. "Well, someone has to do it."

Peter's eyes were warm with affection as he said, "And you do it so well."

Spengler snorted softly. "Lie down," he ordered and draped a light blanket over Peter's legs as the psychologist complied. "I want you to get some sleep--" He stopped suddenly and looked down at Peter, dismay flooding his eyes. Dropping back onto the sofa, he studied the thin face of his friend with new concern. "Peter," he began hesitantly, "I know you were having trouble sleeping when you came back. I--" He waved a hand in disgust. "I'm ashamed of myself for not having asked sooner. I'm afraid I haven't been much of a friend--"

"Can it, Egon, it's okay." Pushing himself up on his elbows, Peter repeated, "It's okay. You were going through a bad time yourself, I knew that. I'm fine." Dropping back down, he sighed. "I just needed a little time to realize I was...safe, that's all."

Spengler lowered his eyes. "I trust Ray helped you with that," he said quietly, remembering the nights during the last week he had feigned sleep while Ray climbed out of bed to join Peter in front of the TV.

"You all helped me," Venkman corrected, tapping the physicist on the knee. "Even Slimer." When Egon looked up at that, Peter grinned ruefully. "Every time I put my head on my pillow I was reminded I was home."

"When you were...gone, your pillow was the only place he would sleep," Egon explained, his lips twitching. "I'm afraid the habit might be a little hard to break now."

"No kidding," Venkman muttered, pushing fretfully at the covers.

"Ginger ale," Egon decided and firmly replaced the covers before returning to the kitchen.

Later, after Peter had finished half the glass of ginger ale and taken his scheduled dose of medication, he settled down, his eyelids drooping. "What time is it?" he asked sleepily.

Egon consulted his watch as he straightened up the collection of glasses, medication and magazines on the coffee table. "Just after midnight."

"You'd better get to bed," Peter mumbled around a yawn. "Janine said you had an early call tomorrow."

"In a while." Finished with the coffee table, he turned to find Venkman's eyes were closed and laid his hand against his friend's face. There hadn't been enough time for the medication to do any good, but at least Peter didn't feel any warmer. As he moved to pull away, though, the psychologist's hand came out from under the covers and gripped his wrist, holding him in place. Sleepy, green eyes opened to regard him seriously. "I know I can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, and I know I haven't always made it easy to be my friend, but what you said...in the eulogy...about no regrets..."

For a moment Egon didn't know what Peter was referring to, then he remembered: We get to choose our friends, but not our relatives. With Peter, I was able to choose both. We both made that choice many, many years ago and I hope Peter never regretted it. I know I never did. He smiled, covering Peter's hand with his. "You have never given me cause to regret that choice, my friend. My only regret is that I never told you before."

His eyes drifting shut, Peter tightened his hand in a squeeze as a soft smile touched his lips. "Me, too," he said drowsily. "It was the best choice I could've made, and I never regretted it. Not once. Just thought you should know."

As he watched, Peter's breathing evened out and he gently tucked the limp hand underneath the covers. "I knew," he whispered.

Reaching up, he switched off the light next to the sofa, then walked unerringly across the darkened room to the arm chair by the bookcase. Clicking on the small reading light there, he picked up the technical journal he'd started reading the other day and settled into the chair. He was still concerned enough about Peter's fever not to leave him alone, and although he knew Ray and Winston would have readily taken turns throughout the night, he decided to stay himself. It was one more choice in a lifetime filled with choices to be made, and so far he had done pretty well.

_**end** _

 

 


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